The  Bondboy 


George  W.  Ogden 


THE   BONDBOY 


/>'//  (/.   II'.  Oydcn 

Trail's  F.n.l 

Claim   Number   One 

The  Land  of  ].i\>l   Chance 

The   Ru.-tler   of  \Viiul   River 

Tlie   Duke   of  ('.liiinney   Unite 

The  Floekmaster   of  Poi-uii   Creek 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1922 


Copyright 

A.  C.  McClurg  &  Co. 
1922 


Published  October,  1922 


Copyrighted  in  Great  Britain 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I      Delivered    Into    Bondage 1 

II     A   Dry-Salt    Man 21 

III     The  Spark  in  the  Clod 47 

IV     A  Stranger   at   the   Gate 66 

V     The  Secret  of  the  Clover 84 

VI     Blood        99 

VII      Deliverance         114 

VIII     Will  He  Tell? 126 

IX     The  Scaled  Envelope 152 

X     Let    Him    Hang 136 

XI     Peter's  Son 171 

XII     The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 188 

XIII  Until   the  Day   Break 210 

XIV  Deserted 228 

XV     The  State  vs.  Newbolt 241 

XVI     "She  Cometh  Not"  He  Said 249 

XVII     The  Blow  of  a  Friend 259 

XVIII     A  Name  and  a  Message 276 

XIX     The  Shadow  of  a  Dream 304 

XX      "The  Penalty  Is  Death!" 311 

XXI     Ollic    Speaks 325 

XXII      A  Summons  of  the  Night 341 

XXIII  Lest  I  Forget                                                              .   359 


2137502 


The  Bondboy 


CHAPTER  I 

DELIVERED   INTO    BONDAGE 

SARAH  NEWBOLT  enjoyed  in  her  saturnine,  brood 
ing  way  the  warmth  of  April  sunshine  and  the  stirring 
greenery  of  awakening  life  now  beginning  to  soften  the  brown 
austerity  of  the  dead  winter  earth.  Beside  her  kitchen  wall 
the  pink  cones  of  rhubarb  were  showing,  and  the  fat  buds 
of  the  lilacs,  which  clustered  coppicelike  in  her  door3'ard, 
were  ready  to  unlock  and  flare  forth  leaves.  On  the  porch 
with  its  southern  exposure  she  sat  in  her  low,  splint-bottomed 
rocker,  leaning  forward,  her  elbows  on  her  knees. 

The  sun  tickled  her  shoulders  through  her  linsey  dress, 
and  pictured  her,  grotesquely  foreshortened,  upon  the  nail- 
drawn,  warped,  and  beaten  floor.  Her  hands,  nursing  her 
cheeks,  chin  pivoted  in  their  palms,  were  large  and  toil- 
distorted,  great- jointed  like  a  man's,  and  all  the  feminine 
softness  with  which  nature  had  endowed  her  seemed  to  have 
been  overcome  by  the  masculine  cast  of  frame  and  face  which 
the  hardships  of  her  life  had  developed. 

She  did  not  seem,  crouched  there  like  an  old  cat  warm 
ing  herself  in  the  first  keen  fires  of  spring,  conscious  of  any 
thing  about  her ;  of  the  low  house,  with  its  battered  eaves, 
the  sprawling  rail-fence  in  front  of  it,  out  of  which  the  gate 
was  gone,  like  a  tooth ;  of  the  wild  bramble  of  roses,  or  the 
generations  of  honeysuckle  which  had  grown,  layer  upon 

1 


The   Hondboy 


layer  —  the  under  stratum  all  dead  and  brown  —  over  the 
decaying  arbor  which  led  up  to  the  cracked  front  door.  She 
did  not  seem  conscious  that  time  and  poverty  had  wasted 
the  beauties  of  that  place;  that  shingles  were  gone  from 
the  outreaching  eaves,  torn  away  bv  March  winds;  that 
stones  had  fallen  from  the  chimney,  squatting  broad-shoul 
dered  at  the  weathered  gable;  that  panes  were  missing  from 
the  windows,  their  places  supplied  by  boards  and  tacked-on 
cloth,  or  that  pillows  crowded  into  them,  making  it  seem  a 
house  that  stopped  its  ears  against  the  unfriendly  things 
which  passengers  upon  the  highway  might  speak  of  it. 

Time  and  poverty  were  pressing  upon  Sarah  Newbolt 
also,  relaxing  there  that  bright  hour  in  the  sun,  straying 
away  from  her  troubles  and  her  vexations  like  an  autumn 
butterrlv  among  the  golden  leaves,  unmindful  of  the  frost 
which  soon  must  cut  short  its  day.  For,  poor  as  she  was 
in  all  that  governments  put  imposts  upon,  and  men  list  in 
tax  returns  and  carry  to  steel  vaults  to  hoard  away,  Sarah 
Newbolt  had  her  dreams.  She  had  no  golden  past;  there 
was  no  golden  future  ready  before  her  feet.  There  was  no 
review  for  her  in  those  visions  of  happy  davs  and  tender 
memories,  over  which  a  woman  half  closes  her  eyes  and  smiles, 
or  over  the  incense  of  which  a  man's  heart  softens.  Behind 
her  stretched  a  wake  of  turbulence  and  strife;  ahead  of  her 
lay  the  banked  clouds  of  an  unsettled  and  insecure  future. 

But  she  had  her  dreams,  in  which  even  the  poorest  of 
us  may  indulge  when  our  taskmaster  in  the  great  brick 
works  of  this  hot  and  heavy  world  is  not  hard  by  and  press 
ing  us  forward  with  his  lash.  She  had  her  dreams  of  what 
never  was  and  never  could  be ;  of  old  longings,  old  heart- 
hungers,  old  hopes,  and  loves  which  never  had  corne  near 
for  one  moment's  caress  of  her  toil-hardened  hand.  Dreams 
which  roved  the  world  and  soothed  the  ache  in  her  heart  by 
their  very  extravagance,  which  even  her  frugal  conscience 


Delivered  Into   Bondage 


could  not  chide ;  dreams  which  drew  hot  tears  upon  her 
cheeks,  to  trickle  down  among  her  knotted  fingers  and  tinc 
ture  the  bitterness  of  things  unrealized. 

The  crunch  of  wheels  in  the  road  now  startled  her  from 
her  profitless  excursions  among  the  mist  of  visions  and 
dreams.  She  lifted  her  head  like  a  cow  startled  from  her 
peaceful  grazing,  for  the  vehicle  had  stopped  at  the  gap 
in  the  fence  where  the  gate  should  have  stood  warder  be 
tween  its  leaning  posts. 

"  Well,  he's  come,"  said  she  with  the  resignation  of  one 
who  finds  the  long  expected  and  dreaded  at  hand. 

A  man  got  out  of  the  buggy  and  hitched  his  horse  to  one 
of  the  old  gate-posts,  first  trying  it  to  satisfy  himself  that 
it  was  trustworthy,  for  stability  in  even  a  post  on  those 
premises,  where  everything  was  going  to  decay,  seemed  un 
reasonable  to  expect.  He  turned  up  the  path,  bordered  by 
blue  flags,  thrusting  their  swordpoints  through  the  ground, 
and  strode  toward  the  house,  with  that  uncouth  giving  at 
the  knees  which  marks  a  man  who  long  has  followed  the 
plow  across  furrowed  fields. 

The  visitor  was  tall  and  bony,  brown,  dry-faced,  and 
frowning  of  aspect.  There  was  severity  in  every  line  of  his 
long,  loose  body;  in  the  hard  wrinkles  of  his  forehead,  in 
his  ill-nurtured  gray  beard,  which  was  so  harsh  that  it 
rasped  like  wire  upon  his  coat  as  he  turned  his  head  in  quick 
appraisement  of  his  surroundings.  His  feet  were  bunion- 
distorted  and  lumpy  in  his  great  coarse  shoes ;  coarse  black 
hair  grew  down  upon  his  broad,  thick-jointed  hands;  a 
thicket  of  eyebrows  presented,  like  a  chevaux-de-frise,  bris 
tling  when  he  drew  them  down  in  his  peering  squint. 

Sarah  Newbolt  rose  to  meet  him,  tall  in  the  vigor  of  her 
pioneer  stock.  In  her  face  there  was  a  malarial  smokiness 
of  color,  although  it  still  held  a  trace  of  a  past  brightness, 
and  her  meagcrness  of  feature  gave  her  mouth  a  set  of  de- 


The  Rondboi/ 


termination  which  stood  like  a  false  index  at  the  beginning 
of  a  book  or  a  misleading  sign  upon  a  door.  Her  eves  were 
Mack,  her  brows  small  and  delicate.  Back  from  her  narrow 
forehead  she  had  drawn  her  plentiful  dark  hair  in  rigid 
unloveliness ;  over  it  she  wore  a  knitted  shawl. 

"Well,  Mr.  Chase,  you've  come  to  put  us  out,  I  reckon?" 
said  she,  a  little  tremor  in  her  chin,  although  her  voice  was 
steady  and  her  eyes  met  his  with  an  appeal  which  lay  too 
near  the  soul  for  words. 

Isom  Chase  drew  up  to  the  steps  and  placed  one  knotted 
foot  upon  them,  standing  thus  in  silence  a  little  while,  as 
if  thinking  it  over.  The  dust  of  the  highroad  was  on  his 
broad  black  hat,  and  gray  upon  his  grizzly  beard.  In  the 
attitude  of  his  lean  frame,  in  the  posture  of  his  foot  upon 
the  step,  he  seemed  to  be  asserting  a  mastery  over  the  place 
which  he  had  invaded  to  the  sad  dispersion  of  Sarah  Xew- 
bolt's  dreams. 

4%  I  hate  to  do  it,"  he  declared,  speaking  hurriedly,  as  if 
he  held  words  but  frail  vehicles  in  a  world  where  deeds 
counted  with  so  much  greater  weight,  "but  I've  been  easy 
on  vou,  ma'am  ;  no  man  can  say  that  I  haven't  been  easy." 

''I  know  vour  monev's  long  past  due,"  she  sighed,  "but 
if  vou  was  to  give  Joe  another  chance,  Mr.  Chase,  we  could 
pav  you  off  in  time." 

"Oh,  another  chance,  another  chance!"  said  he  im 
patiently.  "What  could  you  do  with  all  the  chances  in 
the  world,  you  and  him  —  what  did  your  husband  ever  do 
with  his  chances?  lie  had  as  many  of  'em  as  I  ever  did, 
and  what  did  he  ever  do  but  scheme  away  his  time  on  fool 
things  that  didn't  pan  out  when  he  ought  'a'  been  in  the 
field!  Xo,  you  and  Joe  couldn't  pay  back  that  loan,  ma'am, 
not  if  I  was  to  give  you  forty  years  to  do  it  in." 

"Well,  maybe  not,"  said  she,  drawing  a  sigh  from  the 
well  of  her  sad  old  heart. 


Delivered   Into   Bondage 


"  The  interest  ain't  been  paid  since  Peter  died,  and  that's 
more  than  two  years  now,"  said  Chase.  "  I  can't  sleep  on 
mv  rights  that  way,  ma'am ;  I've  got  to  foreclose  to  save 
myself." 

"  Yes,  you've  been  easy,  even  if  we  did  give  you  up  our 
last  cow  on  that  there  inter-est,"  she  allowed.  "  You've 
been  as  kind  and  easy  over  it,  I  reckon,  Mr.  Chase,  as  a 
body  could  be.  Well,  I  reckon  me  and  Joe  we'll  have  to 
leave  the  old  place  now." 

"  Lord  knows,  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  stay  for ! "  said 
Chase  feelingly,  sweeping  his  eyes  around  the  wired-up,  gone- 
to-the-devil-looking  place. 

"  When  a  body's  bore  children  in  a  place,"  she  said 
earnestly,  "  and  nusscd  'em,  and  seen  'em  fade  away  and 
die ;  and  when  a  body's  lived  in  a  house  for  upward  of  forty 
years,  and  thought  things  in  it,  and  everything  — 

"  Bosh ! "  said  Isom  Chase,  kicking  the  rotting  step. 

"  I  know  it's  all  shacklety  now,"  said  she  apologetically, 
"  but  it's  home  to  me  and  Joe ! " 

Her  voice  trembled  over  the  words,  and  she  wiped  her 
eyes  with  the  corner  of  her  head-shawl ;  but  her  face  re 
mained  as  immobile  as  features  cast  in  metal.  When  one 
has  wept  out  of  the  heart  for  years,  as  Sarah  Newbolt  had 
wept,  the  face  is  no  longer  a  barometer  over  the  tempests 
of  the  soul. 

Isom  Chase  was  silent.  He  stood  as  if  reflecting  his  com 
ing  words,  trying  the  loose  boards  of  the  siding  with  his 
blunt  thumb. 

"  Peter  and  I,  we  came  here  from  Kentucky,"  said  she, 
looking  at  him  with  a  sidelong  appeal,  as  if  for  permission 
to  speak  the  profitless  sentiments  of  her  heart,  "  and  people 
was  scarce  in  this  part  of  Missouri  then.  I  rode  all  the 
way  a-horseback,  and  I  came  here,  to  this  very  house,  a 
bride." 


6  The   Bondboy 

"I  didn't  take  a  mortgage  on  sentiment  —  I  took  it  on 
the  land,"  said  Chase,  out  of  humor  with  this  reminiscent 
history. 

"  You  can't  understand  how  I  feel,  Mr.  Chase,"  said  she, 
dropping  her  arms  at  her  sides  hopelessly.  "Peter  —  he 
planted  them  laylocks  and  them  roses." 

"Better  'a'  planted  corn  —  and  tended  to  it!"  grunted 
Chase.  "Well,  you  can  gruh  'em  all  up  and  take  'em  away 
with  you,  if  you  want  'em.  They  don't  pay  interest  —  I 
suppose  you've  found  that  out." 

"  Not  on  money,"  said  she,  reaching  out  her  hand  toward 
a  giant  lilac  with  a  caressing,  tender  air. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  he  in  voice  of  command,  planting  him 
self  upon  the  porch,  his  hack  against  a  post,  "  and  let's 
you  and  I  have  a  little  talk.  Where  do  you  expect  to  go 
when  you  leave  here;  what  plans  have  you  got  for  the 
future?  " 

"  Lord,  there's  not  a  clap-hoard  in  this  world  that  I  can 
poke  my  head  under  and  lay  claim  to  its  shelter!"  said 
she,  sitting  again  in  her  low  rocker,  shaking  her  head  sadly. 

"  Your  hoy  Joe,  he'll  not  he  ahle  to  command  man's  wages 
for  three  or  four  years  vet,"  said  Chase,  studying  her  averted 
face  as  if  to  take  possession  of  even  her  thoughts.  "  He'll 
not  be  ahle  to  do  much  toward  supportin'  you,  even  if  he 
could  light  on  to  a  steady,  all-the-year  job,  which  he  can't, 
the  way  times  is." 

"  No,  I  don't  reckon  he  could,"  said  she. 

"And  if  I  was  to  let  you  two  stay  on  here  I  wouldn't  be 
any  nearer  lx>in'  paid  back  that  four  hundred  dollar  loan 
in  two  or  three  years  than  I  am  now.  It's  nearly  five 
hundred  now,  with  the  interest  pilin'  up,  and  it'll  be  a  thou 
sand  before  you  know  it.  It'd  take  that  boy  a  lifetime  to 
pay  it  off." 

"  Peter  failed,"  she  nodded  ;  "  it  was  a  burden  on  him  that 


Delivered  Into   Bondage 


hackled  him  to  the  grave.  Yes,  I  reckon  you're  right.  But 
there's  no  tellin'  how  Joe  he'll  turn  out,  Mr.  Chase.  He  may 
turn  out  to  be  a  better  manager  than  his  pap  was." 

"How  old  is  he?"  asked  Chase. 

"  Most  nineteen,"  said  she,  some  kind  of  a  faraway  hope, 
indefinable  and  hazy,  lifting  the  cloud  of  depression  which 
had  fallen  over  her,  "  and  he's  uncommon  big  and  stout  for 
his  age.  Maybe  if  you'd  give  Joe  work  he  could  pay  it  off, 
interest  and  all,  by  the  time  he's  twenty-one." 

"Not  much  need  for  him,"  said  Chase,  shaking  his  head, 
"but  I  might  —  well,  I  might  figure  around  so  I  could  take 
him  over,  on  certain  conditions,  you  understand?  It  all  de 
pends  on  your  plans.  If  you  haven't  anywhere  to  go  when 
you  leave  this  house,  you're  bound  to  land  on  the  county." 

"Don't  tell  me  that,  Mr.  Chase  — don't  tell  me  that!" 
she  begged,  pressing  her  battered  hands  to  her  eyes,  rocking 
and  moaning  in  her  chair. 

"  What's  the  use  of  puttin'  the  truth  back  of  you  when 
you're  bound  to  come  face  up  to  it  in  the  end?"  he  asked. 
"  I  was  talkin'  to  Judge  Little,  of  the  county  court,  about  you 
this  morning.  I  told  him  I'd  have  to  foreclose  and  take 
possession  of  this  forty  to  save  myself. 

" '  It'll  throw  her  and  that  boy  on  the  county,'  he  says. 
*  Yes,  I  reckon  it  will,'  I  told  him,  *  but  no  man  can  say  I've 
been  hard  on  'em.' ' 

"  Oh,  you  wouldn't  throw  me  on  the  county  at  the  end 
of  my  days,  Mr.  Chase!"  she  appealed.  "Joe  he'll  take  care 
of  me,  if  you'll  only  give  him  a  chance  —  if  you'll  only  give 
him  a  chance,  Mr.  Chase ! " 

"  I  meant  to  take  that  up  with  you,"  said  he,  "  on  the 
conditions  I  spoke  of  a  minute  ago." 

He  turned  to  her,  as  if  for  her  consent  to  give  expression 
to  his  mysterious  terms.  She  nodded,  and  he  went  on: 

"  In  the  winter  time,  ma'am,  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth, 


8  The   Bondboy 

Joe  wouldn't  be  worth  wages  to  me,  and  in  the  summer  not 
very  much.  A  boy  that  si/c  and  age  eats  his  head  oil',  you 
might  sav. 

"  But  I'll  make  YOU  this  offer,  out  of  consideration  of 
my  friendship  for  Peter,  and  your  attachment  for  the  old 
place,  and  all  of  that  shift':  I'll  take  Joe  over,  under  writ 
ing,  till  lie's  twenty-one,  at  ten  dollars  a  month  and  all  found, 
winter  and  summer  through,  and  allow  you  to  stay  right  on 
here  in  the  house,  with  a  couple  of  acres  for  your  chickens 
and  garden  patch  and  your  posies  and  all  the  things  you 
set  store  on  and  pri/c.  I'll  do  this  for  you.  Missis  Xewbolt, 
but  I  wouldn't  do  it  for  any  other  human  being  alive." 

She  turned  slowly  to  him,  an  expression  of  mingled  amaze 
ment  and  fear  on  her  face. 

'"You  mean  that  you  want  me  to  bind  Joe  out  to  you  till 
he's  his  own  man?"  said  she. 

"Well,  some  call  it  by  that  name,"  nodded  Chase,  "but  it's 

nothing  more  than  any  apprenticeship  to  any  trade,  except 

—  oh,  well,  there  ain't  no  difference,  except  that  there's  few 

trades  that  equal  the  one  the  boy  '11  learn  under  me,  ma'am." 

"You're  askin'  me  to  bind  my  little  son  —  my  only  child 
left  to  me  of  all  that  I  bore  —  you  want  me  to  bind  him  out 
to  you  like  a  nigger  slave!" 

Her  voice  fell  away  to  a  whisper,  unable  to  bear  the  horror 
that  grew  into  her  words. 

"Better  boys  than  him  have  been  bound  out  in  this  neigh 
borhood!"  said  Chase  sharply.  "If  you  don't  want  to  do  it, 
don't  do  it.  That's  all  I've  got  to  say.  If  you'd  rather  go 
to  the  poorhousc  than  sec  your  son  in  steady  and  honorable 
employment,  in  a  good  home,  and  learning  a  business  under 
a  man  that's  made  some  success  of  it,  that's  your  lookout, 
not  mine.  But  that's  where  you'll  land  the  minute  you  set 
your  foot  out  in  that  road.  Then  the  county  court'll  take 
your  boy  and  bind  him  out  to  somebody,  and  you'll  have  no 


Delivered   Into   Bondage  9 

word  to  say  in  the  matter,  at  all.    But  you  can  suit  yourself." 

"It  —  kind  of  —  shook  me,"  she  muttered,  the  mother- 
love,  the  honor  and  justice  in  her  quailing  heart  shrinking 
back  before  the  threat  of  that  terrible  disgrace  —  the  poor- 
house. 

The  shadow  of  the  poorhouse  had  stood  in  her  way  for 
years.  It  had  been  the  fear  of  Peter  when  he  was  there,  and 
his  last  word  was  one  of  thankfulness  to  the  Almighty  that 
he  had  been  permitted  to  die  in  a  freeman's  bed,  under  his 
own  humble  roof.  That  consolation  was  to  be  denied  her ; 
the  shadow  of  the  poorhouse  had  advanced  until  it  stood  now 
at  her  door.  One  step  and  it  would  envelop  her ;  the  taint 
of  its  blight  would  wither  her  heart. 

Sarah  Newbolt  had  inherited  that  dread  of  publicly  con 
fessed  poverty  and  dependence.  It  had  come  down  to  her 
through  a  long  line  of  pioneer  forebears  who  feared  neither 
hardship,  strife  nor  death,  so  that  it  might  come  to  them 
without  a  master  and  under  the  free  sky.  Only  the  dis 
graced,  the  disowned,  the  failures,  and  the  broken-minded 
made  an  end  in  the  poorhouse  in  those  vigorous  days.  It 
was  a  disgrace  from  which  a  family  never  could  hope  to  rise 
again.  There,  on  the  old  farm  with  Peter  she  had  been  poor, 
as  poor  as  the  poorest,  but  thev  had  been  free  to  come  and  go. 

"  I  know  I've  got  the  name  of  being  a  hard  man  and  a 
money-grabber  and  a  driver,"  said  Chase  with  crabbed  bit 
terness,  "but  Avho  is  it  that  gives  that  reputation  to  me? 
People  that  can't  beat  me  and  take  advantage  of  me  and 
work  money  out  of  me  by  their  rascally  schemes !  I'm  not 
a  hard  man  by  nature  —  my  actions  with  you  prove  that, 
don't  they?" 

"  You've  been  as  kind  as  a  body  could  expect,"  she  an 
swered.  "  It's  only  right  that  you  should  have  your  money 
back,  and  it  ain't  been  your  fault  that  we  couldn't  raise  it. 
But  we've  done  the  best  we  could." 


10  The   Bondboy 


"And  that  best  only  led  you  up  to  the  poorhouse  door," 
said  he.  "  I'm  offering  you  a  way  to  escape  it,  and  spend 
the  rest  of  your  days  in  the  place  you're  attached  to,  but  I 
don't  seem  to  get  any  thanks  for  it." 

"I  am  thankful  to  you  for  your  offer- — from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart  I'm  thankful,  Mr.  Chase,"  she  hastened  to 
declare. 

"Well,  neither  of  us  knows  how  Joe's  going  to  turn  out," 
said  he.  "  Under  my  training  he  might  develop  into  a  good, 
sober  farmer,  one  that  knows  his  business  and  can  make  it 
pay.  If  he  does,  I  promise  you  I'll  give  him  a  chance 
on  this  place  to  redeem  it.  I'll  put  him  on  it  to  farm  on 
shares  when  he  fills  out  his  time  under  me,  my  share  of  the 
crops  to  apply  to  the  debt.  Would  that  be  fair?" 

"Nobody  in  this  world  couldn't  say  it  wasn't  generous  and 
fair  of  you,  and  noble  and  kind,  Mr.  Chase,"  she  declared, 
her  face  showing  a  little  color,  the  courage  coming  back  into 
her  eyes. 

''Then  you'd  better  take  up  my  offer  without  any  mure 
foolishness,"  he  advised. 

"  I'll  have  to  talk  it  over  with  Joe,"  said  she. 

"He's  got  nothing  to  do  with  it,  I  tell  you,"  protested 
Chase,  brushing  that  phase  of  it  aside  with  a  sweep  of  his 
hairy  hand.  "You,  and  you  alone,  are  responsible  for  him 
till  he's  twenty-one,  and  it's  your  duty  to  keep  him  ofT  the 
county  and  away  from  the  disgrace  of  pauperism,  and  your 
self  as  well." 

"  I  ought  to  sec  Joe  about  it  first,  Mr.  Chase,  I  ought  to 
talk  it  over  with  him.  Let  me  think  a  minute." 

She  settled  down  to  her  pensive  attitude,  elbows  on  knees, 
chin  in  hands,  and  looked  over  the  homely  scene  of  riotous 
shrubbery,  racked  buildings,  leaning  well-curb,  rotting 
fences.  In  one  swift,  painful  moment  she  pictured  what  that 
spot  would  be  after  Lsom  Chase  had  taken  possession. 


Delivered   Into   Bondage  11 

He  would  uproot  the  lilacs ;  he  would  level  the  house  and 
the  chimney,  stone  by  stone ;  he  would  fill  up  the  well  and 
pull  down  the  old  barn  that  Peter  built,  and  drive  his  plow 
over  the  hearthstone  where  she  had  suckled  her  babies  in  the 
years  of  her  youth  and  hope.  He  would  obliterate  the  land 
marks  of  her  bridal  days,  and  sow  his  grain  in  the  spot  where 
Peter,  fresh  in  the  strong  heat  of  youth,  had  anchored  their 
ambitions. 

It  was  not  so  much  for  what  it  had  been  that  her  heart 
was  tender  to  it,  for  the  years  had  been  heavy  there  and 
toilsome,  disappointing  and  full  of  pain ;  not  so  much  for 
what  it  had  been,  indeed,  as  what  she  and  young  Peter,  with 
the  thick  black  hair  upon  his  brow,  had  planned  to  make 
it.  It  was  for  the  romance  unlived,  the  hope  unrealized, 
that  it  was  dear.  And  then  again  it  was  poor  and  pitiful, 
wind-shaken  and  old,  but  it  was  home.  The  thought  of  the 
desolation  that  waited  it  in  the  dread  future  struck  her 
breast  like  the  pangs  of  bereavement.  Tears  coursed  down 
her  face ;  sobs  rose  in  her  aching  throat. 

.Joe,  she  thought,  would  do  that  much  for  her  and  the  old 
home  place ;  it  would  be  but  a  little  more  than  two  years  of 
sacrifice  for  him,  at  the  most,  with  the  bright  hope  of  inde 
pendence  and  redemption  at  the  end.  Being  bound  out  would 
not  be  so  disgraceful  as  going  to  the  poorhouse.  Joe  would 
do  it  for  her,  she  was  sure  of  that.  But  it  would  be  better 
to  wait  until  evening  and  ask  him. 

"Joe,  he'll  be  along  home  from  his  work  about  dusk,"  said 
she,  "  and  we  could  let  you  know  tomorrow." 

"  Tomorrow,"  said  Isom  Chase,  rising  stiffly,  "  I'll  have  to 
send  the  sheriff  here  with  the  papers.  Tomorrow,  ma'am, 
will  be  too  late." 

That  dreadful  picture  swept  across  her  inner  vision  once 
more  —  the  chimney  down,  the  house  gone.  She  saw  corn 
growing  over  the  spot  where  she  sat  that  moment ;  she  remem- 


1-2  The 


bored  that  Isoin  Chase  had  plowed  up  a  burying-ground  once 
and  sec'ded  it  to  timothy. 

''What  will  I  have  to  do  to  bind  Joe  over  to  you?"  she 
asked,  facing  him  in  sudden  resolution. 

"We'll  git  in  the  buggy,"  said  he,  with  new  friendliness, 
seeing  that  he  had  won,  ''and  drive  over  to  Judge  Little's. 
lie  can  make  out  the  papers  in  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll  pay 
you  a  month's  wages  in  advance.  That  will  fix  you  up  for 
groceries  and  garden  seeds  and  everything,  and  you'll  be  as 
snug  and  happy  as  any  woman  in  the  county." 

In  less  than  two  hours  the  transaction  was  completed,  and 
Sarah  \ewbolt  was  back  again  in  the  home  upon  which  she 
had  secured  her  slipping  tenure  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  son's 
liberty.  As  she  began  "stirring  the  pots  for  supper,"  as 
she  called  it,  she  also  had  time  to  stir  the  deep  waters  of 
reflection. 

She  had  secured  herself  from  the  threat  of  the  county 
farm,  and  Joe  had  been  the  price;  Joe,  her  last-born,  the 
sole  remaining  one  of  the  six  who  had  come  to  her  and  gone 
on  again  into  the  mists. 

She  began  to  fear  in  her  heart  when  she  stood  off  and 
viewed  the  result  of  her  desperate  panic,  the  pangs  of  which 
Isom  Chase  had  adroitly  magnified.  If  Joe  could  work  for 
Isom  Chase  and  thus  keep  her  from  the  poorliouse,  could  lie 
not  have  worked  for  another,  free  to  come  and  go  as  he 
liked,  and  with  the  same  security  for  her? 

Chase  said  that  he  had  not  taken  a  mortgage  on  sentiment, 
but  be  bad  made  capital  out  of  it  in  the  end,  trading  upon 
her  affection  for  the  old  home  and  its  years-long  associations. 
As  the  gloomy  evening  deepened  and  she  stood  in  the  door 
watching  for  her  son's  return,  she  saw  through  the  scheme  of 
Isom  Chase.  She  never  would  have  been  thrown  on  the 
countv  with  Joe  to  depend  on;  the  question  of  his  ability  to 
support  both  of  them  admitted  of  no  debate. 


Delivered  Into   Bondage  13 

Joe's  industry  spoke  for  that,  and  that  was  Isom  Chase's 
reason  for  wanting  him.  Isom  wanted  him  because  he  was 
strong  and  trustworthy,  honest  and  faithful.  And  she  had 
bargained  him  in  selfishness  and  sold  him  in  cowardice,  with 
out  a  word  from  him,  as  she  might  have  sold  a  cow  to  pay 
a  pressing  debt. 

The  bargain  was  binding.  Judge  Little  had  pressed  that 
understanding  of  it  upon  her.  It  was  as  irrevocable  as  a 
deed  signed  and  sealed.  Joe  could  not  break  it ;  she  could 
not  set  it  aside.  Isom  Chase  was  empowered  with  all  the 
authority  of  absolute  master. 

"  If  he  does  anything  that  deserves  thrashing  for,  I've  got 
a  right  to  thrash  him,  do  }rou  understand  that?"  Isom  had 
said  as  he  stood  there  in  the  presence  of  Judge  Little,  button 
ing  his  coat  over  the  document  which  transferred  Joe's  serv 
ices  to  him. 

Her  heart  had  contracted  at  the  words,  for  the  cruelty 
of  Isom  Chase  was  notorious.  A  bound  boy  had  died  in  his 
service  not  many  years  before,  kicked  by  a  mule,  it  was  said. 
There  had  been  mutterings  at  that  time,  and  talk  of  an 
investigation,  which  never  came  to  a  head  because  the  bound 
lad  was  nobody,  taken  out  of  the  county  home.  But  the 
fear  in  the  widow's  heart  that  moment  was  not  for  her  son ; 
it  was  for  Isom  Chase. 

"  Lord  'a'  mercy,  Mr.  Chase,  you  mustn't  never  strike 
Joe ! "  she  warned.  "  You  don't  know  what  kind  of  a  boy 
he  is,  Mr.  Chase.  I'm  afraid  he  might  up  and  hurt  you 
maybe,  if  you  ever  done  that." 

"'  I'll  handle  him  in  my  own  way,"  with  portentous  signifi 
cance  ;  "  but  I  want  }Tou  to  understand  my  rights  fully  at 
the  start." 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  answered  meekly. 

Joe  was  coming  now,  pitchfork  over  his  shoulder,  from 
the  field  where  he  had  been  burning  corn-stalks,  making  ready 


14  The  Bondboy 


for  the  plow.  She  hastened  to  set  out  a  basin  of  water  on 
the  bench  beside  the  kitchen  door,  and  turned  then  into  the 
room  to  light  the  lamp  and  place  it  on  the  waiting  table. 

Joe  appeared  at  the  door,  drying  his  hands  on  the  dangling 
towel.  He  was  a  tall,  gaunt-faced  boy,  big-boned,  raw- 
jointed,  the  framework  for  prodigious  strength.  His 
shoulders  all  but  filled  the  narrow  doorway,  his  crown  came 
within  an  inch  of  its  lintel.  His  face  was  glowing  from  the 
scrubbing  which  he  had  given  it  with  home-made  lye  soap, 
his  drenched  hair  fell  in  heavy  locks  down  his  deep  forehead. 

"Well,  Mother,  what's  happened?"  he  asked,  noting  her 
uneasiness  as  she  sat  waiting  him  at  the  table,  the  steaming 
coffee-pot  at  her  hand. 

"  Sit  down  and  start  your  supper,  son,  and  we'll  talk  as 
we  go  along,"  said  she. 

Joe  gave  his  hair  a  "lick  and  a  promise"  with  the  comb, 
and  took  his  place  at  the  table.  Mrs.  Xewbolt  bent  her  head 
and  pronounced  the  thanksgiving  which  that  humble  board 
never  lacked,  and  she  drew  it  out  to  an  amazing  and  uncom 
fortable  length  that  evening,  as  Joe's  impatient  stomach 
could  bear  clamorous  witness. 

Sarah  Newbolt  had  a  wide  fame  as  a  religious  woman, 
and  a  woman  who  could  get  more  hell-fire  into  her  belief  and 
more  melancholy  pleasure  out  of  it  than  any  hard-shell 
preacher  in  the  land.  It  was  a  doleful  religion,  with  little 
promise  or  hope  in  it,  and  a  great  deal  of  blood  and  suffering 
between  the  world  and  its  doubtful  reward;  but  Sarah  Xew 
bolt  lived  according  to  its  stern  inflexibility,  and  sang  its 
sorrowful  hymns  by  day,  as  she  moved  about  the  house,  in 
a  voice  that  carried  a  mile.  But  for  all  the  grimncss  in  her 
creed,  there  was  not  a  being  alive  with  a  softer  heart.  She 
would  have  divided  her  last  square  of  corn-bread  with  the 
wayfarer  at  her  door,  without  question  of  his  worth  or 
unworthiness,  his  dissension,  or  his  faith. 


Delivered  Into   Bondage  15 

"  Mr.  Chase  was  here  this  afternoon,  Joe,"  said  she  as 
the  lad  began  his  supper. 

"Well,  I  suppose  he's  going  to  put  us  out?" 

Joe  paused  in  the  mixing  of  gravy  and  corn-bread  — 
designed  to  be  conveyed  to  his  mouth  on  the  blade  of  his  knife 
—  and  lifted  inquiring  eyes  to  his  mother's  troubled  face. 

"  No,  son  ;  we  fixed  it  up,"  said  she. 

"You  fixed  it  up?"  he  repeated,  his  eyes  beaming  with 
pleasure.  "Is  he  going  to  give  us  another  chance?" 

"  You  go  on  and  eat  your  supper,  Joe ;  we'll  talk  it  over 
when  you're  through.  Lands,  you  must  be  tired  and  hungry 
after  workin'  so  hard  all  afternoon ! " 

He  was  too  hungry,  perhaps,  to  be  greatly  troubled  by 
her  air  of  uneasiness  and  distraction.  He  bent  over  his 
plate,  not  noting  that  she  sipped  her  coffee  with  a  spoon, 
touching  no  food.  At  last  he  pushed  back  with  a  sigh  of 
repletion,  and  smiled  across  at  his  mother. 

"So  you  fixed  it  up  with  him?" 

"  Yes,  I  went  into  a  dishonorable  deal  with  Isom  Chase," 
said  she,  "and  I  don't  know  what  you'll  say  when  you  hear 
what's  to  be  told  to  3Tou,  Joe." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'dishonorable  deal'?"  he  asked, 
his  face  growing  white. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you'll  say,  Joe,  I  don't  know  what 
you'll  say ! "  moaned  she,  shaking  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  Well,  Mother,  I  can't  make  out  what  you  mean,"  said 
he,  baffled  and  mvstified  by  her  strange  behavior. 

"Wait  — I'll  show  you> 

She  rose  from  the  table  and  reached  down  a  folded  paper 
from  among  the  soda  packages  and  tins  on  the  shelf.  Saying 
no  more,  she  handed  it  to  him.  Joe  took  it,  wonder  in  his 
face,  spread  his  elbows,  and  unfolded  the  document  with  its 
notarial  seal. 

Joe  was  ready  at  printed  matter.     He  read  fast  and  under- 


W The  llondboi/ 

standingly,  and  his  face  grew  paler  as  his  eyes  ran  on 
from  line  to  line.  When  he  came  to  the  end,  where  his 
mother's  wavering  signature  stood  above  that  of  Isom  Chase, 
his  head  dropped  a  little  lower,  his  hands  lay  listlessly,  as  if 
paralyzed,  on  the  paper  under  his  eves.  A  sudden  dejection 
seemed  to  settle  over  him,  blighting  his  youth  and  buoyancy. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  was  making  out  to  be  busy  over  the  stove. 
She  lifted  the  lid  of  the  kettle,  and  put  it  down  with  a 
clatter;  she  opened  the  stove  and  rammed  the  fire  with  need 
less  severity  with  the  poker,  and  it  snapped  back  at  her, 
shooting  sparks  against  her  hand. 

"Mother,  you've  bound  me  out!"  said  he,  his  voice  un 
steady  in  its  accusing  note. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  hands  starting  out  in  a  little  move 
ment  of  appeal.  He  turned  from  the  table  and  sat  very 
straight  and  stern  in  his  chair,  his  gaunt  face  hollowed  in 
shadows,  his  wild  hair  falling  across  his  brow. 

"  Oh,  I  sold  you  !      I  sold  you  !  "  she  wailed. 

She  sat  again  in  her  place  at  the  table,  spiritless  and 
afraid,  her  hands  limp  in  her  lap. 

"  You've  bound  me  out !  "  Joe  repeated  harshly,  his  voice 
rasping  in  his  throat. 

"  I  never  meant  to  do  it,  Joe,"  she  pleaded  in  weak  defense; 
"  but  Isom,  he  said  nothing  else  would  save  us  from  the  county 
farm.  I  wanted  to  wait  and  ask  you,  Joe,  and  I  told  him  I 
wanted  to  ask  you.  but  he  said  it  would  be  too  late!" 

"Yes.  What  else  did  he  sav?"  asked  Joe,  his  hands 
clenched,  his  eyes  peering  straight  ahead  at  the  wall. 

She  related  the  circumstances  of  Chase's  visit,  his  threat 
of  eviction,  his  declaration  that  she  would  become  a  county 
charge  the  moment  that  she  set  foot  in  the  road. 

"The  old  liar!"  said  Joe. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  more  for  her  to  say.  She 
could  make  no  defense  of  an  act  which  stood  before  her  in 


Delivered  Into  Bondage  17 

all  its  ugly  selfishness.  Joe  sat  still,  staring  at  the  wall 
beyond  the  stove ;  she  crouched  forward  in  her  chair,  as  if  to 
shrink  out  of  his  sight. 

Between  them  the  little  glass  lamp  stood,  a  droning,  slow- 
winged  brown  beetle  blundering  against  its  chimney.  Outside, 
the  distant  chant  of  newly  wakened  frogs  sounded  ;  through 
the  open  door  the  warm  air  of  the  April  night  came  straying, 
bearing  the  incense  of  the  fields  and  woodlands,  where  fires 
smoldered  like  sleepers  sending  forth  their  dreams. 

His  silence  was  to  her  the  heaviest  rebuke  that  he  could 
have  administered.  Her  remorse  gathered  under  it,  her  con 
trition  broke  its  bounds. 

"  Oh,  I  sold  you,  my  own  flesh  and  blood ! "  she  cried, 
springing  to  her  feet,  lifting  her  long  arms  above  her  head. 

"  You  knew  what  he  was,  Mother ;  you  knew  what  it  meant 
to  be  bound  out  to  him  for  two  long  years  and  more.  It 
wasn't  as  if  you  didn't  know." 

"  I  knew,  I  knew !  But  I  done  it,  son,  I  done  it !  And 
I  done  it  to  save  my  own  mis'able  self.  I  ain't  got  no  excuse, 
Joe,  I  ain't  got  no  excuse  at  all." 

"  Well,  Mother,  you'll  be  safe  here,  anyhow,  and  I  can 
stand  it,"  said  Joe,  brightening  a  little,  the  tense  severity  of 
his  face  softening.  "Never  mind;  I  can  stand  it,  I  guess." 

"  I'll  never  let  you  go  to  him  —  I  didn't  mean  to  do  it  —  it 
wasn't  fair  the  way  he  drove  me  into  it ! "  said  she. 

She  laid  her  hand,  almost  timidly,  on  her  son's  shoulder, 
and  looked  into  his  face.  "  I  know  you  could  take  care  of 
me  and  keep  off  of  the  county,  even  if  Isom  did  put  us  out 
like  he  said  he'd  do,  but  I  went  and  done  it,  anyhow.  Isom 
led  me  into  it,  Joe;  he  wasn't  fair." 

"  Yes,  and  you  bound  me  out  for  about  half  what  I'm 
worth  to  any  man  and  could  demand  for  my  services  any 
where,  Mother,"  said  Joe,  the  bitterness  which  lie  had  fought 
down  but  a  moment  past  surging  up  in  him  again. 


18 The   Bomlboy 

"  Lord  forgive  me ! "  she  supplicated  piteously.  She 
turned  suddenly  to  the  table  and  snatched  the  paper.  "  It 
wasn't  fair  — he  fooled  me  into  it!"  she  repeated.  ''I'll 
tear  it  up,  I'll  burn  it,  and  we'll  leave  this  place  and  let 
him  have  it,  and  he  can  go  on  and  do  whatever  he  wants  to 
with  it  —  tear  it  down,  burn  it,  knock  it  to  pieces  —  for  any 
thing  I  care  now  !  " 

Joe  restrained  her  as  she  went  toward  the  stove,  the 
document  in  her  hand. 

''Wait,  Mother;  it's  a  bargain.  We're  bound  in  honor 
to  it,  we  can't  back  down  now." 

"I'll  never  let  you  do  it!"  she  declared,  her  voice  rising 
beyond  her  control.  "I'll  walk  the  roads  and  beg  my  bread 
first  !  I'll  hoe  in  the  fields,  I'll  wash  folks'  clothes  for  'em 
like  a  nigger  slave,  I'll  lay  down  mv  life,  Joe,  before  I  let 
you  go  into  that  murdcrin'  man's  hands!" 

lie  took  the  paper  from  her  hands  gently. 

"  I've  been  thinking  it  over,  Mother,"  said  he,  "  and  it 
might  be  worse  —  it  might  be  a  good  deal  worse.  It  gives 
me  steady  work,  for  one  thing,  and  you  can  save  most  of 
my  wage's,  counting  on  the  eggs  you'll  sell,  and  the  few  tur 
keys  and  things.  After  a  while  you  can  get  a  cow  and 
make  butter,  and  we'll  be  better  olT,  all  around.  We  couldn't 
get  out  of  it,  anyway,  Mother.  He's  paid  you  money,  and 
you've  signed  your  name  to  the  contract  along  with  Isoin. 
If  we  were  to  pull  out  and  leave  here,  Isom  could  send  the 
sheriff  after  me  and  bring  me  back,  I  guess.  Even  if  lie 
couldn't  do  that,  he  could  sue  vou.  Mother,  and  make  no 
end  of  trouble.  But  we  wouldn't  leave  if  we  could.  It 
wouldn't  be  quite  honorable,  or  like  Xewbolts  at  all,  to  break 
our  contract  that  way." 

"But  he'll  drive  you  to  the  grave,  Joe!" 

A  slow  smile  spread  over  his  face.  "  I  don't  think  Isom 
would  find  me  a  good  driving  horse,"  said  he. 


Delivered  Into  Bondage  19 

"  He  said  if  you  done  well,"  she  told  him,  brightening  as 
she  clutched  at  that  small  stay  of  justification,  "he'd  let 
you  work  this  place  on  shares  till  you  paid  off  the  loan. 
That  was  one  reason " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Joe,  a  cheerfulness  in  his  voice  which 
his  pale  cheeks  did  not  sustain,  "  that  was  one  thing  I  had 
in  mind  when  I  spoke.  It'll  all  come  out  right.  You've 
done  the  wisest  thing  there  was  to  be  done,  Mother,  and 
I'll  fulfill  your  agreement  to  the  last  day." 

"  You're  a  brave  boy,  Joe ;  you're  a  credit  to  the  memory 
of  your  pap,"  said  she. 

"  I'll  go  over  to  Isom's  early  in  the  morning,"  said  Joe, 
quite  sprightly,  as  if  the  arrangement  had  indeed  solved 
all  their  troubles.  He  stretched  his  arms  with  a  prodigious 
yawn.  "  You  don't  need  to  bother  about  getting  up  and 
fixing  breakfast  for  me,  for  I'll  get  some  over  there." 

"  I  hope  he'll  give  you  enough,"  said  she. 

"  Don't  you  worry  over  me,"  he  counseled  kindly,  "  for 
I'll  be  all  right  at  Isom's.  Sunday  I'll  come  home  and  see 
you.  Now,  you  take  a  good  sleep  in  the  morning  and 
don't  bother." 

"  I'll  be  up  before  you  leave,"  said  she,  her  e}'es  over 
flowing  with  tears.  "  Do  you  reckon  I  could  lie  and  sleep 
and  slumber  when  my  last  and  only  livin'  one's  goin'  away 
to  become  a  servant  in  the  house  of  bondage?  And  I  sold 
you  to  it,  Joe,  my  own  flesh  and  blood ! " 

There  had  been  little  tenderness  between  them  all  their 
days,  for  in  such  lives  of  striving,  poverty  too  often  starves 
affection  until  it  quits  the  board.  But  there  was  a  certain 
nobility  of  loyalty  which  outlived  the  narrowness  of  their 
lot,  and  certain  traditions  of  chivalry  in  the  Newbolt 
heritage  which  now  guided  Joe's  hand  to  his  mother's  head 
as  she  sat  weeping  and  moaning  with  her  arms  flung  upon 
the  disordered  table. 


20  The  Bondbo?/ 


"It'll  bo  all  right,  Mother,"  he  cheered  her,  "and  the 
time  will  soon  pass  away.  What  are  two  years  to  me? 
Not  much  more  than  a  month  or  two  to  an  old  man  like 
Isom.  I  tell  YOU,  this  plan's  the  finest  thing  in  the  world 
for  vou  and  me,  Mother  —  don't  you  grieve  over  it  that 
way.'" 

She  was  feeling  the  comfort  of  his  cheerfulness  when  he 
left  her  to  go  to  bed,  although  she  was  sore  in  conscience 
and  spirit,  sore  in  mind  and  heart. 

"  The  Lord  never  gave  any  woman  a  son  like  him,"  said 
she  as  the  sound  of  Joe's  steps  fell  quiet  overhead,  "  and 
I've  sold  him  into  slavery  and  bondage,  just  to  save  my 
own  unworthy,  coward'y,  sncakiii'  self ! " 


CHAPTER  II 

A    DRY-SALT   MAN 

JOE  was  afoot  earty.  His  mother  came  to  the  place 
in  the  fence  where  the  gate  once  stood  to  give  him 
a  last  word  of  comfort,  and  to  bewail  again  her  selfishness 
in  sending  him  away  to  serve  as  bondboy  under  the  hard 
hand  of  Isom  Chase.  Joe  cheered  her  with  hopeful  pic 
tures  of  the  future,  when  the  old  home  should  be  redeemed 
and  the  long-dwelling  shadow  of  their  debt  to  Isom  cleared 
away  and  paid.  From  the  rise  in  the  road  which  gave  him 
the  last  sight  of  the  house  Joe  looked  back  and  saw  her 
with  her  head  bowed  to  the  topmost  rail  of  the  fence,  a 
figure  of  dejection  and  woe  in  the  security  which  she  had 
purchased  for  herself  at  such  a  heavy  price. 

Although  Joe  moved  briskly  along  his  way,  his  feet  as 
light  as  if  they  carried  him  to  some  destination  of  certain 
felicity,  there  was  a  cloud  upon  his  heart.  This  arrange 
ment  which  his  mother  had  made  in  an  hour  of  panic  had 
disordered  his  plans  and  troubled  the  bright  waters  of  his 
dreams.  Plans  and  dreams  were  all  his  riches.  They  were 

•/ 

the  sole  patrimony  of  value  handed  down  from  Peter  New- 
bolt,  the  Kentucky  gentleman,  who  had  married  below  his 
state  and  carried  his  young  mountain  wife  away  to  the 
Missouri  woods  to  escape  the  censure  of  family  and  criti 
cism  of  friends. 

That  was  the  only  legacy,  indeed,  that  Joe  was  conscious 
of,  but  everybody  else  was  aware  that  old  Peter  had  left 
him  something  even  more  dangerous  than  dreams.  That  was 
nothing  less  than  a  bridling,  high-minded,  hot-blooded  pride 
—  a  thing  laughable,  the  neighbors  said,  in  one  so  bitterly 
and  hopelessly  poor. 

21 


22  Tlic  Bondboy 


"  Tlic  pore  folks,"  the  neighbors  called  the  Ncwbolts  in 
speaking  of  them  one  to  another,  for  in  that  community 
of  fairly  prosperous  people  there  was  none  so  poor  as  they. 
The  neighbors  had  magnified  their  misfortune  into  a  re 
proach,  and  the  "pore  folks"  was  a  term  in  which  they 
found  much  to  compensate  their  small  souls  for  the  slights 
which  old  IYtt.T,  in  his  conscious  superiority,  unwittingly 
put  upon  them. 

To  the  end  of  his  days  Peter  never  had  been  wise  enough 
to  forget  that  nature  had  endowed  him,  in  many  ways,  above 
the  le  el  of  the  world  to  which  Fate  had  chained  his  feet, 
and  his  neighbors  never  had  been  kind  enough  to  forget  that 
he  was  poor. 

Even  after  Peter  was  dead  Joe  suffered  for  the  family 
pride.  He  was  still  spoken  of,  far  and  near  in  that  com 
munity,  as  the  "pore  folks's  boy."  Those  who  could  not 
rise  to  his  lofty  level  despised  him  because  he  respected 
the  gerund,  and  also  said  iccrc  where  they  said  teas,  and 
there  arc,  where  usage  made  it  they  is.  It  was  old  Peter's 
big-headedness  and  pride,  they  said.  What  business  had  the 
pore  folks's  boy  with  the  speech  of  a  school-teacher  or 
minister  in  his  mouth?  His  "coming"  and  his  "going," 
indeed!  Huh,  it  made  'em  sick. 

Joe  had  lived  a  lonely,  isolated  life  on  account  of  the 
family  poverty  and  pride.  He  was  as  sensitive  as  a  poet 
to  the  booiish  brutality,  and  his  poor,  unlettered,  garrulous 
mother  made  it  worse  for  him  by  her  boasting  of  his  parts. 
She  never  failed  to  let  it  be  known  that  he  had  read  the 
Bible  through,  "from  back  to  back,"  and  the  Cottage 
Encyclopedia,  and  the  Imitation  of  Christ,  the  three  books 
in  the  Xewbolt  library. 

People  had  stood  by  and  watched  Peter  Xewbolt  at  his 
schemes  and  dreams  for  many  a  year,  and  all  the  time  they 
had  seen  him  growing  poorer  and  poorer,  and  marveled  that 


A  Dry-salt  Man  23 


he  never  appeared  to  realize  it  himself.  Just  as  a  great 
many  men  spend  their  lives  following  the  delusion  that  they 
can  paint  or  write,  and  waste  their  energies  and  resources 
on  that  false  and  destructive  idea,  Peter  had  held  the  dream 
that  he  was  singled  out  to  revolutionize  industry  by  his 
inventions. 

He  had  invented  a  self-winding  clock  which,  outside  his 
own  shop  and  in  the  hands  of  another,  would  not  wind;  a 
self-binding  reaper  that,  in  his  neighbor's  field,  would  not 
perform  its  part ;  and  a  lamp  that  was  designed  to  manu 
facture  the  gas  that  it  burned  from  the  water  in  its  bowl, 
but  which  dismally  and  ignobly  failed.  He  had  contrived 
and  patented  a  machine  for  milking  cows,  which  might  have 
done  all  that  was  claimed  for  it  if  anybody  —  cows  included 
—  could  have  been  induced  to  give  it  a  trial,  and  he  had 
fiddled  around  with  perpetual  motion  until  the  place  was 
a  litter  of  broken  springs  and  rusty  wheels. 

Nothing  had  come  of  all  this  pother  but  rustic  enter 
tainment,  although  he  demonstrated  the  truth  of  his  calcula 
tions  by  geometry,  and  applied  Greek  names  to  the  things 
which  he  had  done  and  hoped  to  do.  All  this  had  eaten  up 
his  energies,  and  his  fields  had  gone  but  half  tilled.  Perhaps 
back  of  all  Peter's  futile  strivings  there  had  lain  the  germ 
of  some  useful  thing  which,  if  properly  directed,  might  have 
grown  into  the  fortune  of  his  dreams.  But  he  had  plodded 
in  small  ways,  and  had  died  at  last,  in  debt  and  hopeless, 
leaving  nothing  but  a  name  of  reproach  which  lived  after 
him,  and  even  hung  upon  his  son  that  cool  April  morning 
as  he  went  forward  to  assume  the  penance  that  his  mother's 
act  had  set  for  him  to  bear. 

And  the  future  was  clouded  to  Joe  Newbolt  now,  like  a 
window-pane  with  frost  upon  it,  where  all  had  been  so  clear 
in  his  calculations  but  a  day  before.  In  his  heart  he  feared 
the  ordeal  for  Isom  Chase  was  a  man  of  evil  repute. 


24 The  liondboi/ 

Long  ago  Chase's  first  wife  had  died,  without  issue,  cursed 
to  her  grave  because  she  had  borne  him  no  sons  to  labor 
in  his  fields.  Lately  he  had  married  another,  a  woman  of 
twenty,  although  he  was  well  along  the  road  to  sixty-five 
himself.  His  second  wife  was  a  stranger  in  that  community, 
the  daughter  of  a  farmer  named  Harrison,  who  dwelt  beyond 
the  county-seat. 

Chase's  homestead  was  a  place  pleasant  enough  for  the 
abode  of  happiness,  in  spite  of  its  grim  history  and  sordid 
reputation.  The  mark  of  thrift  was  about  it,  orchards 
bloomed  upon  its  fair  slopes,  its  hedges  graced  the  high 
ways  like  cool,  green  walls,  not  a  leaf  in  excess  upon  them, 
not  a  protruding  bramble.  How  Isom  Chase  got  all  the 
work  done  was  a  matter  of  unceasing  wonder,  for  nothing 
tumbled  to  ruin  there,  nothing  went  to  waste.  The  secret 
of  it  was,  perhaps,  that  when  Chase  did  hire  a  man  he  got 
three  times  as  much  work  out  of  him  as  a  laborer  ordinarily 
performed. 

There  were  stories  abroad  that  Chase  was  as  hard  and 
cruel  to  his  young  wife  as  he  had  been  to  his  old,  but  there 
was  no  better  warrant  for  them  than  his  general  reputation. 
It  was  the  custom  in  those  days  for  a  woman  to  suffer 
greater  indignities  and  cruelties  than  now  without  public 
complaint.  There  never  had  been  a  separation  of  man  and 
wife  in  that  community,  there  never  had  been  a  suit  for 
divorce.  Doubtless  there  were  as  many  unhappy  women  to 
the  square  mile  there  as  in  other  places,  but  custom  ruled 
that  they  must  conceal  their  sorrows  in  their  breasts. 

To  all  of  these  things  concerning  Isom  Chase,  Joe  New- 
bolt  was  no  stranger.  He  knew,  very  well  indeed,  the  life 
that  lay  ahead  of  him  as  the  bondboy  of  that  old  man  as 
he  went  forward  along  the  dew-moist  road  that  morning. 

Karlv  as  it  was,  Isom  Chase  had  been  out  of  bed  two 
hours  or  more  when  Joe  arrived.  The  scents  of  frying  food 


A  Dry-salt  Man  25 


came  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  Isom  himself  was  making  a 
splash  in  a  basin  of  water  —  one  thing  that  he  could  afford 
to  be  liberal  with  three  times  a  day  —  on  the  porch  near 
the  open  door. 

Joe  had  walked  three  miles,  the  consuming  fires  of  his 
growing  body  were  demanding  food.  The  odors  of  break 
fast  struck  him  with  keen  relish  as  he  waited  at  the  steps 
of  the  porch,  unseen  by  Isom  Chase,  Avho  had  lifted  his  face 
from  the  basin  with  much  snorting,  and  was  now  drying  it 
on  a  coarse  brown  towel. 

"  Oh,  you're  here,"  said  he,  seeing  Joe  as  he  turned  to 
hang  up  the  towel.  "Well,  come  on  in  and  eat  your  break 
fast.  We  ought  to  'a'  been  in  the  field  nearly  an  hour 
ago." 

Hungry  as  he  was,  Joe  did  not  advance  to  accept  the 
invitation,  which  was  not  warmed  by  hospitality,  indeed,  but 
sounded  rather  like  a  command.  He  stood  where  he  had 
stopped,  and  pushed  his  flap-brimmed  hat  back  from  his 
forehead,  in  nervous  movement  of  decision.  Chase  turned, 
half-way  to  the  door,  looking  back  at  his  bound  boy  with 
impatience. 

"  No  need  for  you  to  be  bashful.  This  is  home  for  a 
good  while  to  come,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  not  so  very  bashful,"  Joe  disclaimed,  placing  the 
little  roll  which  contained  his  one  extra  shirt  on  the  wash- 
bench  near  the  door,  taking  off  his  hat,  then,  and  standing 
serious  and  solemn  before  his  new  master. 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  stand  here  waitin'  on  you  and 
dribble  away  the  day,  for  I've  got  work  to  do!"  said  Isom 
sourly. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe,  yielding  the  point  respectfully,  but 
standing  his  ground;  "but  before  I  go  across  your  door 
step,  and  sit  at  your  table  and  break  bread  with  you,  I  want 
you  to  understand  my  position  in  this  matter." 


26 The    Roudboy 

"It's  all  settled  between  your  mother  and  me,"  said  Chase 
impatiently,  drawing  down  his  bayoneted  eyebrows  in  a 
frown,  "  there's  no  understanding  to  come  to  between  me 
and  you  —  you've  got  nothing  to  say  in  the  transaction. 
You're  bound  out  to  me  for  two  years  and  three  months 
at  ten  dollars  a  month  and  all  found,  and  that  settles  it." 

"  Xo,  it  don't  settle  it,"  said  Joe  with  rising  heat ;  "  it  only 
begins  it.  Before  I  put  a  bite  in  mv  mouth  in  this  house, 
or  set  my  hand  to  any  work  on  this  place,  I'm  going  to  lay 
down  the  law  to  you,  Mr.  Chase,  and  you're  going  to  listen 
to  it,  too!" 

"Now,  Joe,  you've  got  too  much  sense  to  try  to  stir  up 
a  row  and  rouse  hard  feelin's  between  us  at  the  start,"  said 
Isom,  coining  forward  with  his  soft-soap  of  flattery  and 
crafty  conciliation. 

"  If  I  hadn't  'a'  known  that  you  was  the  smartest  boy 
of  vour  age  anywhere  around  here,  do  you  suppose  I'd 
have  taken  you  in  this  way?" 

'•  You  scared  mother  into  it ;  you  didn't  give  me  a  chance 
to  sav  anything,  and  you  took  an  underhanded  hold," 
charged  Joe,  his  voice  trembling  with  scarce-controlled  anger. 
"  It  wasn't  right,  Isom,  it  wasn't  fair.  You  know  I  could 
hire  out  any  day  for  more  than  ten  dollars  a  month,  and 
you  know  I'd  never  let  mother  go  on  the  county  as  long 
as  I  was  able  to  lift  a  hand." 

"Winter  and  summer  through,  Joe — -you  must  consider 
that,"  argued  Isom,  giving  his  head  a  twist  which  was  meant 
to  be  illustrative  of  deep  wisdom. 

*' You  knew  she  was  afraid  of  being  thrown  on  the  county," 
said  Joe,  "you  sneaked  in  when  I  wasn't  around  and  scared 
her  up  so  she'd  do  most  anything." 

"Well,  you  don't  need  to  talk  so  loud,"  cautioned  Isom, 
turning  an  uneasv,  cross  look  toward  the  door,  from  which 
the  sound  of  a  light  step  iled. 


A  Dry-salt  Man  27 


"  I'll  talk  loud  enough  for  you  to  hear  me,  and  under 
stand  what  I  mean,"  said  Joe.  "  I  could  run  off  and  leave 
you,  Isom,  if  I  wanted  to,  but  that's  not  my  way.  Mother 
made  the  bargain,  I  intend  to  live  up  to  it,  and  let  her 
have  what  little  benefit  there  is  to  be  got  out  of  it.  But 
I  want  you  to  know  what  I  think  of  you  at  the  start,  and 
the  way  I  feel  about  it.  I'm  here  to  work  for  mother,  and 
keep  that  old  roof  over  her  head  that's  dearer  to  her  than 
life,  but  I'm  not  your  slave  nor  your  servant  in  any  sense 
of  the  word." 

"  It's  all  the  same  to  mo,"  said  Isom,  dropping  his  sham 
front  of  placation,  lifting  his  finger  to  accent  his  words, 
"but  you'll  work,  understand  that  —  you'll  rc'or/i/" 

"  Mother  told  me,"  said  Joe  not  in.  the  least  disturbed 
by  this  glimpse  of  Isom  in  his  true  guise,  "that  you  had 
that  notion  in  your  mind,  Isom.  She  said  you  told  her  you 
could  thrash  me  if  you  wanted  to  do  it,  but  I  want  to  tell 
you  — 

•'It's  the  law,"  cut  in  Isom.     "I  can  do  it  if  I  sec  fit." 

"Well,  don't  ever  try  it,"  said  Joe.  drawing  a  long  breath. 
"  That  was  the  main  thing  I  wanted  to  say  to  you,  Isom  — 
don't  ever  try  that !  " 

i;  I  never  intended  to  take  a  swingle-tree  to  you,  Joe,"  said 
Isom,  forcing  his  dry  face  into  a  grin.  "  I  don't  see  that 
there  ever  need  be  any  big  differences  between  me  and  you. 
You  do  what's  right  by  me  and  I'll  do  the  same  by  you." 

Isom  spoke  with  lowered  voice,  a  turning  of  the  eyes 
toward  the  kitchen  door,  as  if  troubled  lest  this  defiance  of 
his  authority  might  have  been  heard  within,  and  the  seeds 
of  insubordination  sown  in  another  bond-slave's  breast. 

"  I'll  carry  out  mother'?  agreement  with  you  to  the  best 
of  my  ability,"  said  Joe,  moving  forward  as  if  ready  now 
to  begin. 

"  Then  come  on  in   and  cat  your  breakfast,"   said  Isom. 


28 The  Bondboy 

Isom  led  the  way  into  the  smoky  kitchen,  inwardly  more 
gratified  than  displeased  over  this  display  of  spirit.  Accord 
ing  to  the  agreement  between  them,  he  had  taken  under  bond 
service  the  Widow  Xewbolt's  "minor  male  child,"  but  it 
looked  to  him  as  if  some  mistake  had  been  made  in  the 
delivery. 

"He's  a  man!''  exulted  Isom  in  his  heart,  pleased  be 
yond  measure  that  he  had  bargained  better  than  he  had 
known. 

Joe  put  his  lean  brown  hand  into  the  bosom  of  his  shirt 
and  brought  out  a  queer,  fat  little  book,  leather-bound  and 
worn  of  the  corners.  This  he  placed  on  top  of  his  bundle, 
then  followed  Chase  into  the  kitchen  where  the  table  was 
spread  for  breakfast. 

Mrs.  Chase  was  busy  straining  milk.  She  did  not  turn 
her  head,  nor  give  the  slightest  indication  of  friendliness  or 
interest  in  Joe  as  he  took  the  place  pointed  out  by  Chase. 
Chase  said  no  word  of  introduction.  lie  turned  his  plate 
over  with  a  businesslike  flip,  took  up  the  platter  which 
contained  two  fried  eggs  and  a  few  pieces  of  bacon,  scraped 
off  his  portion,  and  handed  the  rest  to  Joe. 

In  addition  to  the  one  egg  each,  and  the  fragments  of 
bacon,  there  were  sodden  biscuits  and  a  broken-nosed  pitcher 
holding  molasses.  A  cup  of  roiled  coffee  stood  ready  poured 
beside  each  plate,  and  that  was  the  breakfast  upon  which 
Joe  cast  his  curious  eyes.  It  seemed  absurdly  inadequate 
to  the  needs  of  two  strong  men,  accustomed  as  Joe  was  to 
four  eggs  at  a  meal,  with  the  stays  of  life  which  went  with 
them  in  proportion. 

Mrs.  Chase  did  not  sit  at  the  table  witli  them,  nor  re 
plenish  the  empty  platter,  although  Joe  looked  expectantly 
and  hungrily  for  her  to  do  so.  She  was  carrying  pans  of 
milk  into  the  cellar,  and  did  not  turn  her  head  once  in  their 
direction  during  the  meal. 


A  Dry-salt  Man  29 


Joe  rose  from  the  table  hungry,  and  in  that  uneasy  state 
of  body  began  his  first  day's  labor  on  Isom  Chase's  farm. 
He  hoped  that  dinner  might  repair  the  shortcomings  of 
breakfast,  and  went  to  the  table  eagerly  when  that  hour 
came. 

For  dinner  there  was  hog-jowl  and  beans,  bitter  with 
salt,  yellow  with  salt,  but  apparently  greatly  to  the  liking 
of  Isom,  whose  natural  food  seemed  to  be  the  very  essence 
of  salt. 

"  Help  yourself,  eat  plenty,"  he  invited  Joe. 

Jowls  and  beans  were  cheap ;  he  could  afford  to  be  lib 
eral  with  that  meal.  Generosity  in  regard  to  that  five- 
year-old  jowl  cost  him  scarcely  a  pang. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Joe  politely.     "  I'm  doing  very  well." 

A  place  was  laid  for  Mrs.  Chase,  as  at  breakfast,  but 
she  did  not  join  them  at  the  table.  She  was  scalding  milk 
crocks  and  pans,  her  face  was  red  from  the  steam.  As 
she  bent  over  the  sink  the  uprising  vapor  moved  her  hair 
upon  her  temples  like  a  wind. 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  eat  your  dinner,  Ollie?"  inquired 
Isom  with  considerable  lightness,  perhaps  inspired  by  the 
hope  that  she  was  not. 

"  I  don't  feel  hungry  right  now,"  she  answered,  bending 
over  her  steaming  pan  of  crocks. 

Isom  did  not  press  her  on  the  matter.  He  filled  up  his 
plate  again  with  beans  and  jowl,  whacking  the  grinning  jaw 
bone  with  his  knife  to  free  the  clinging  shreds  of  meat. 

Accustomed  as  he  had  been  all  his  life  to  salt  fare,  that 
meal  was  beyond  anything  in  that  particular  of  seasoning 
that  Joe  ever  had  tasted.  The  fiery  demand  of  his  stomach 
for  liquid  dilution  of  his  saline  repast  made  an  early  drain 
on  his  coffee ;  when  he  had  swallowed  the  last  bean  that 
he  was  able  to  force  down,  his  cup  was  empty.  He  cast 
his  eyes  about  inquiringly  for  more. 


30  The  Bondboy 


"We  only  drink  one  cup  of  coffee  at  a  meal  here,"  ex 
plained  Isoin,  a  rel)uke  in  his  words  for  the  extravagance 
of  those  whose  loose  habits  carried  them  beyond  that  ab 
stemious  limit. 

"  All  right ;  I  guess  I  can  make  out  on  that,"  said  Joe. 

There  was  a  pitcher  of  water  at  his  hand,  upon  which 
he  drew  heavilv,  with  Hie  entire  good-will  and  approbation 
of  Isoni.  Then  he  took  his  hat  from  the  floor  at  his  feet 
and  went  out,  leaving  Isoin  hammering  again  at  the  jou-j, 
this  tune  with  the  handle  of  his  fork,  in  the  hope  of  dis 
lodging  a  bit  of  gristle  which  clung  to  one  end. 

.Joe's  hope  leaped  ahead  to  supper,  unjustified  as  the  flight 
was  by  the  day's  developments.  Human  creatures  could  not 
subsist  longer  than  a  meal  or  two  on  such  fare  as  that,  lie 
argued;  there  must  be  a  change  very  soon,  of  course. 

It  was  a  heavv  afternoon  for  .Toe.  lie  was  wearv  from 
the  absolute  lack  of  nourishment  when  the  last  of  the  chores 
was  done  long  after  dusk,  and  Isoin  announced  that  they 
would  go  to  the  house  for  supper. 

The  supper  began  with  soup,  made  from  the  left-over 
beans  and  the  hog's  jaw  of  dinner.  There  it  swam,  tint 
fleshless,  long-toot  lied,  salt-reddened  bone,  the  most  hateful 
piece  of  animal  anatomv  that  Joe  ever  fixed  his  hungry 
eyes  upon.  And  supper  ended  as  it  began  ;  with  soup.  There 
was  nothing  else  behind  it,  save  some  hard  bread  to  soak 
in  it,  and  its  only  savor  was  salt. 

Isoin  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with,  even  cheered  by,  his 
liquid  refreshment.  His  wife  came  to  her  place  at  the  table 
when  they  were  almost  through,  and  sat  stirring  a  bowl  of 
the  mixture  of  bread  and  thin  soup,  her  eyes  set  in  ab 
stracted  stare  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  far  bcvond  the 
work  of  her  hands.  She  did  not  speak  to  Joe;  he  did  not 
undertake  anv  friendly  approaches. 

Joe  never  had  seen  Mrs.   Chase  before  that  day,  neigh- 


A  Dry-salt  Man  31 

bors  though  they  had  been  for  months.  She  appeared  un 
usually  handsome  to  Joe,  with  her  fair  skin,  and  hair  colored 
like  ripe  oats  straw.  She  wore  a  plait  of  it  as  big  as  his 
wrist  coiled  and  wound  around  her  head. 

For  a  little  while  after  finishing  his  unsatisfying  meal,  Joe 
sat  watching  her  small  hand  turning  the  spoon  in  her  soup. 
He  noted  the  thinness  of  her  young  cheeks,  in  which  there 
was  no  marvel,  seeing  the  fare  upon  which  she  was  forced 
to  live.  She  seemed  to  be  unconscious  of  him  and  Isom.  She 
did  not  raise  her  eyes. 

Joe  got  up  in  a  little  while  and  left  them,  going  to  the 
porch  to  look  for  his  bundle  and  his  book.  They  were  gone. 
He  came  back,  standing  hesitatingly  in  the  door. 

''They're  in  your  room  upstairs,"  said  Mrs.  Chase  with 
out  turning  her  head  to  look  at  him,  still  leaning  forward 
over  her  bowl. 

"  I'll  show  you  where  it  is,"  Isom  offered. 

He  led  the  way  up  the  stairs  which  opened  from  the 
kitchen,  carrying  a  small  lamp  in  his  hand. 

Joe's  room  was  over  the  kitchen.  It  was  bleak  and  bare, 
its  black  rafters  hung  with  spiderwehs,  plastered  with  the 
nests  of  wasps.  A  dormer  window  jutted  toward  the  east 
like  a  hollow  eye,  designed,  no  doubt,  and  built  by  Isom 
Chase  himself,  to  catch  the  first  gleam  of  morning  and  throw 
it  in  the  eyes  of  the  sleeping  hired-hand,  whose  bed  stood 
under  it. 

Isom  came  down  directly,  took  his  lantern,  and  went  to 
the  barn  to  look  after  a  new-born  calf.  Where  there  was 
profit,  such  as  he  counted  it,  in  gentleness,  Isom  Chase  could 
be  as  tender  as  a  mother.  Kind  words  and  caresses,  accord 
ing  to  his  experience,  did  not  result  in  any  more  work  out 
of  a  wife  so  he  spared  them  the  young  woman  at  the  table, 
as  he  had  denied  them  the  old  one  in  her  grave. 

As   Isom  hurried   out   into    the   soft   niijht,   with   a   word 


32 The  Bondboy 

about  the  calf,  Ollie  made  a  bitter  comparison  between  her 
lot  and  that  of  the  animals  in  the  barn.  Less  than  six 
months  before  that  gloomy  night  she  had  come  to  that 
house  a  bride,  won  by  the  prospect  of  ease  and  independence 
which  Chase  had  hold  out  to  her  in  the  brief  season  of  his 
adroit  courtship.  The  meanest  men  sometimes  turn  out  to 
be  the  nimblest  cock-pheasants  during  that  interesting  period, 
and,  like  those  vain  birds  of  the  jungles,  they  strut  and 
dance  and  cut  dazzling  capers  before  the  eyes  of  the  ladies 
when  they  want  to  strike  up  a  matrimonial  bargain. 

Isom  Chase  had  done  that.  He  had  been  a  surprising 
lover  for  a  dry  man  of  his  years,  spurring  around  many  a 
younger  man  in  the  contest  for  Ollie's  hand.  Together  with 
parental  encouragement  and  her  own  vain  dreams,  she  had 
not  found  it  hard  to  say  the  word  that  made  her  his  wife. 
But  the  gay  feathers  had  fallen  from  him  very  shortly 
after  their  wedding  day,  revealing  the  worm  which  they  had 
hidden  ;  the  bright  colors  of  his  courtship  parade  had  faded 
like  the  fustian  decorations  of  a  carnival  in  the  rain. 

Isom  was  a  man  of  bone  and  dry  skin,  whose  greed  and 
penury  had  starved  his  own  soul.  He  had  brought  her  there 
and  put  burdens  upon  her,  with  the  assurance  that  it  would 
be  only  for  a  little  while,  until  somebody  could  be  hired  to 
take  the  work  off  her  hands.  Then  he  had  advanced  the 
plea  of  hard  times,  when  the  first  excuse  had  worn  out  ; 
now  he  had  dropped  all  pretenses.  She  was  serving,  as  ho 
had  married  her  to  serve,  as  he  had  brought  her  there  in 
unrecompensed  bondage  to  serve,  and  hope  was  gone  from 
her  horizon,  and  her  tears  were  undried  upon  her  cheeks. 

Isom  had  profited  bv  a  good  day's  work  from  Joe,  and 
he  had  not  been  obliged  to  drive  him  to  obtain  it.  So  he 
was  in  great  spirits  when  he  came  back  from  the  barn,  where 
he  had  found  the  calf  coming  on  sturdily  and  with  great  prom 
ise.  He  put  out  the  lantern  and  turned  the  lamp  down  a  shade 


A  Dry-salt  Man  33 


seeing  that  it  was  consuming  a  twentieth  more  oil  than  nec 
essary  to  light  Ollie  about  her  work.  Then  he  sat  down 
beside  the  table,  stretching  his  long  legs  with  a  sigh. 

Ollie  was  washing  the  few  dishes  which  had  served  for 
supper,  moving  between  table  and  sink  with  quick  com 
petence,  making  a  neat  figure  in  the  somber  room.  It  was 
a  time  when  a  natural  man  would  have  filled  his  pipe  and 
brought  out  the  weekly  paper,  or  sat  and  gossiped  a  com 
fortable  hour  with  his  wife.  But  Isom  never  had  cheered 
his  atrophied  nerves  with  a  whiff  of  tobacco,  and  as  for  the 
county  paper,  or  any  paper  whatever  except  mortgages  and 
deeds,  Isom  held  all  of  them  to  be  frauds  and  extravagances 
which  a  man  was  better  off  without. 

"Well,  what  do  3rou  think  of  the  new  hand?"  asked  Isom, 
following  her  with  his  eyes. 

"  I  didn't  pay  any  particular  notice  to  him,"  said  she, 
her  back  toward  him  as  she  stood  scraping  a  pan  at  the 
sink. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  to  me  this  morning  when 
he  was  standin'  there  by  the  steps?" 

"No,  I  didn't  hear,"  listlessly,  indifferently. 

"H-m  —  I  thought  you  was  listening." 

"I  just  looked  out  to  see  who  it  was." 

"  No  difference  if  }rou  did  hear,  Ollie,"  he  allowed  gen 
erously  —  for  Isom.  "  A  man's  wife  ought  to  share  his  busi 
ness  secrets,  according  to  my  way  of  lookin'  at  it ;  she's  got 
a  right  to  know  what's  going  on.  Well,  I  tell  you  that  chap 
talked  up  to  me  like  a  man ! " 

Isom  smacked  his  lips  over  the  recollection.  The  promise 
of  it  was  sweet  to  his  taste. 

Ollie's  heart  stirred  a  little.  She  wondered  if  someone  had 
entered  that  house  at  last  who  would  be  able  to  set  at  de 
fiance  its  stern  decrees.  She  hoped  that,  if  so,  this  breach 
in  the  grim  wall  might  let  some  sunlight  in  time  into  her  own 


34 The   Kondboy 

bleak  heart.     But  she  said  nothing  to  Isoni,  and  he  talked  on. 

"  I  made  a  good  pick  when  I  lit  on  that  boy/'  said  he, 
with  that  old  wise  twist  of  the  head;  "the  best  piek  in  this 
county,  by  a  long  shot.  I  choose  a  man  like  I  pick  a  horse, 
for  the  blood  he  shows.  A  blooded  horse  will  endure  where 
a  plug  will  fall  down,  and  it's  the  same  way  with  a  man. 
Ollie,  don't  YOU  know  that,  boy's  got  as  good  a  strain  in 
him  as  you'll  iind  in  this  part  of  the  country  ?" 

k*  I  never  saw  him  before  today,  I  don't  know  his  folks,'* 
said  -she-,  apparently  little  interested  in  her  husband's  find. 

Iso:n  sat  silent   for  a  while,  looking  at  the  worn  iloor. 

"  Well,  he's  bound  out  to  me  for  two  years  and  more," 
said  he,  the  comfort  of  it:  in  his  hard,  plain  face.  "I'll  have 
a  steady  hand  thai:  I  can  depir.d  oa  now.  That's  a  boy 
that'll  do  his  duty;  1:0  until. t  in  my  mind  about  that.  If 
may  go  against  the  gram  once  in  a  while,  Olhe,  like  our 
duty  does  for  all  of  us  sometimes;  but,  no  matter  how  il 
tastes  to  him,  that  boy  Joe,  he'll  face  it. 

"He's  not  one  of  the  kind  that'll  shirk  on  me  when  my 
back's  turned,  or  steal  from  me  if  he  gets  a  chance,  or 
betray  any  trusr  I  put  in  him.  lie's  as  poor  as  blue-John 
and  as  j  rend  as  l.ucifer.  but  he's  as  straight  as  the  barrel 
of  thaL  old  gun.  lie's  goi;  Kentucky  blood  in  him,  and  the 
best  of  it.  too." 

"lie  brought  a  funny  little  Bible  with  him,"  .said  Oliie 
in  low  \o:ce.  as  if  communing  with  herself. 

"Funny?"   said   Isom.      "Is    that    so?" 

"So  little  and  fat."  she  explained.  "I  never  saw  one 
like  it  before.  It  was  there  on  the  bench  this  morning  with 
his  bundle.  I  put  it  up  by  his  bed." 

"JIum-m,"  said  Isom  reflectively,  as  if  considering  it 
deeply.  Then:  "Well,  I  guess  it's  all  right." 

Isom  sat  a  good  while,  fingering  his  stiff  beard.  lie  gave 
no  surface  indication  of  the  thoughts  which  were-  working 


A  Dry-salt  Man  35 


within  him,  for  he  was  unlike  those  sentimental,  plump,  thin- 
skinned  people  who  cannot  conceal  their  emotions  from  the 
world.  Isom  might  have  been  dreaming  of  gain,  or  he  might 
have  been  contemplating  the  day  of  loss  and  panic,  for  all 
that  his  face  revealed.  Sun  and  shadow  alike  passed  over 
it,  as  rain  and  blast  and  summer  sun  pass  over  and  beat 
upon  a  stone,  leaving  no  mark  behind  save  in  that  slow  and 
painful  wear  which  one  must  live  a  century  to  note.  He 
looked  up  at  his  wife  at  length,  his  hand  still  in  his  beard, 
and  studied  her  silently. 

"I'm  not  a  hard  man,  Ollie,  like  some  people  give  me 
the  name  of  being,"  he  complained,  with  more  gentleness 
in  his  voice  than  she  had  heard  s'nce  he  was  courting  her. 
He  stiil  studied  her,  as  if  he  expected  her  to  uphold  com 
mon  report  and  protest  that  lie  was  hard  and  cruel-driving 
in  his  way.  She  said  nothing;  Isom  proceeded  to  give  him 
self  flic  good  rating  which  the  world  denied. 

"  I'm  not  half  as  mean  as  some  envious  people  would  make 
out,  if  they  could  find  anybody  to  take  stock  in  what  they 
say.  If  I'm  not  as  honey-mouthed  as  some,  that's  because 
I've  got  more  sense  than  to  diddle-daddle  my  time  away  in 
words  when  there's  KG  much  to  do.  I'll  show  you  that  I'm 
as  kind  at  heart,  (Mile,  as  any  man  in  this  county,  if  you'll 
stand  by  me  and  do  your  part  of  what's  to  be  done  with 
out  black  looks  and  grumbles  .". n(<  growls. 

"I'm  a  good  many  years  older  than  }  ou,  and  maybe  I'm 
not  as  light-footed  and  light-headed  as  you'd  like  a  hus 
band  to  be,  but  I've  got  weight  to  me  where  it  counts.  I 
could  buy  out  two-thirds  of  the  young  fellers  in  this  county, 
Ollie,  all' in  a  bunch." 

"Yes,  Isom,  I  guess  you  could,"  she  allowed,  a  weary 
drag  in  her  voice. 

"  I'll  put  a  woman  in  to  do  the  work  here  in  the  fall, 
when  I  make  a  turn  of  my  crops  and  money  comes  a  little 


36  The  Bondboy 


freer  than  it  does  right  now,"  he  promised.  "  Interest  on 
my  loans  is  behind  in  a  good  many  cases,  and  there's  no  use 
crowdin'  'em  to  pay  till  they  sell  their  wheat  and  hogs. 
If  I  had  the  ready  money  in  hand  to  pay  wages,  Ollie,  I'd 
put  a  nigger  woman  in  here  tomorrow  and  leave  you  nothing 
to  do  but  oversee.  You'll  have  a  fine  easy  time  of  it  this 
fall,  Ollic,  when  I  turn  my  crops." 

Ollie  drained  the  dishpan  and  wrung  out  the  cloths.  These 
she  hung  on  a  line  to  dry.  Isom  watched  her  with  ap 
proval,  pleased  to  see  her  so  housewifely  and  neat. 

"  Ollie,  you've  come  on  wonderful  since  I  married  you," 
said  he.  "When  you  come  here  —  do  you  recollect?  —  you 
couldn't  hardly  make  a  mess  of  biscuits  that  was  fit  to  eat, 
and  you  knew  next  to  nothing  about  milk  and  butter  for 
all  that  you  was  brought  up  on  a  farm." 

"Well,  I've  learned  my  lesson,"  said  she,  with  a  bitter 
ness  which  passed  over  Isom's  head. 

Her  back  was  turned  to  him,  she  was  reaching  to  hang 
a  utensil  on  the  wall,  so  high  above  her  head  that  she  stood 
on  tiptoe.  Isom  was  not  insensible  to  the  pretty  lines  of 
her  back,  the  curve  of  her  plump  hips,  the  whiteness  of  her 
naked  arms.  lie  smiled. 

"Well,  it's  worth  money  to  you  to  know  all  these  things," 
said  lie,  "and  I  don't  know  but  it's  just  as  well  for  you 
to  go  on  and  do  the  work  this  summer  for  the  benefit  of 
what's  to  be  got  out  of  it ;  vou'll  be  all  the  better  able  to 
oversee  a  nigger  woman  when  I  put  one  in,  and  all  the 
belter  qualified  to  take  things  into  your  own  hands  when 
I'm  done  and  in  the  grave.  For  I'll  have  to  go,  in  fifteen 
or  twenty  years  more,"  he  sighed. 

Ollie  made  no  reply.  She  was  standing  with  her  back 
still  turned  toward  him,  stripping  down  her  sleeves.  Hut 
the  sigh  which  she  gave  breath  to  sounded  loud  in  Isom's 


A  Dry-salt  Man  37 


Perhaps  he  thought  she  was  contemplating  with  concern 
the  day  when  he  must  give  over  his  strivings  and  hoardings, 
and  leave  her  widowed  and  alone.  That  may  have  moved 
him  to  his  next  excess  of  generosity. 

"  I'm  going  to  let  Joe  help  you  around  the  house  a  good 
deal,  Ollie,"  said  he.  "  He'll  make  it  a  lot  easier  for  you 
this  summer.  He'll  carry  the  swill  down  to  the  hogs,  and 
water  'em,  and  take  care  of  the  calves.  That'll  save  you 
a  good  many  steps  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

Ollie  maintained  her  ungrateful  silence.  She  had  heard 
promises  before,  and  she  had  come  to  that  point  of  hope 
lessness  where  she  no  longer  seemed  to  care.  Isom  was 
accustomed  to  her  silences,  also ;  it  appeared  to  make  little 
difference  to  him  whether  she  spoke  or  held  her  peace. 

He  sat  there  reflectively  a  little  while ;  then  got  up,  stretch 
ing  his  arms,  yawning  with  a  noise  like  a  dog. 

"  Guess  I'll  go  to  bed,"  said  he. 

He  looked  for  a  splinter  on  a  stick  of  stove-wood,  which 
he  lit  at  the  stove  and  carried  to  his  lamp.  At  the  door 
he  paused,  turned,  and  looked  at  Ollie,  his  hand,  hovering 
like  a  grub  curved  beside  the  chimney,  shading  the  light 
from  his  eyes. 

"So  he  brought  a  Bible,  did  he?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  he's  welcome  to  it,"  said  Isom.  "  I  don't  care 
what  anybody  that  works  for  me  reads  —  just  so  long  as 
he  works!  " 

Isom's  jubilation  over  his  bondboy  set  his  young  wife's 
curiosity  astir.  She  had  not  noted  any  romantic  or  noble 
parts  about  the  youth  in  the  casual,  uninterested  view  which 
she  had  given  him  that  day.  To  her  then  he  had  appeared 
only  a  sprangling,  long-bodied,  long-legged,  bony-shouldered, 
unformed  lad  whose  hollow  frame  indicated  a  great  capacity 
for  food.  Her  only  thought  in  connection  with  him  had 


The   Bomlboy 


been  that  it  meant  another  mouth  to  dole  Isom's  slender 
allowance  out  to,  more  scheming  on  her  part  to  make  the 
rations  go  round.  It  meant  another  one  to  wash  for,  another 
bed  to  make1. 

She  had  thought  of  those  things  wearily  that  morning 
when  she  heard  the  new  voice  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  she 
had  gone  there  for  a  moment  to  look  him  o\er;  for  strange 
faces,  even  those  of  loutish  farm-hands,  were  refreshing  in 
her  isolated  life.  She  had  not  heard  what  the  lad  was  saying 
to  Isom,  {'<>;•  the  kitchen  was  large  and  the  stove  far  away 
from  the  door,  but  she  had  the  passing  thought  that  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  earnestness  or  passion  in  the  harangue 
for  a  farm-hand  to  be  laying  on  his  early  morning  talk. 

When  she  found  the  Hihlc  Iving  there  on  top  of  Joe's 
hickory  shirt,  she  h;:d  concluded  that  he  had  been  talking 
religion.  She  hoped  that  he  would  not  preach  at  his  meals. 
The  only  religion  that  Ollie  knew  anything  of,  and  not  much 
of  that,  wa>  a  glum  and  melancholy  kind,  with  frenzied 
shoutings  of  the  preacher  in  it.  and  portentous  snaking  of 
the  beard  in  the  shudderful  pictures  of  the  anguish  of  unre 
pentant  death.  So  she  hoped  that  lie  would  no!  preach 
at  his  meals,  for  the  house  was  sad  enough,  and  terrible 
and  gloomily  hopeless  enough,  without  the  kind  of  religion 
that  made  the  night  deeper  and  the  day  longer  in  its  dread. 

Now  Isom's  talk  about  the  lad's  blood,  and  h;s  expression 
of  high  confidence  in  his  IValtv,  gave  her  a  pleasant  topic 
of  speculation.  Did  good  blood  make  men  different  from 
those  who  came  of  mongrel  strain,  in  other  points  than 
that  of  endurance  alone?  Did  it  give  men  nobility  and  sym 
pathy  and  loftiness,  or  was  it  something  prized  by  those 
who  hired  them,  as  Isom  seemed  to  value  it  in  Joe,  because 
it  lent  strength  to  the  arms? 

Ollie  sat  on  the  kitchen  steps  and  turned  all  this  over 
in  her  thoughts  after  Isom  had  <rone  to  bed. 


A  Dry-salt  Man  39 

Perhaps  in  the  new  bondboy,  who  had  come  there  to  serve 
vith  her,  she  would  find  one  with  whom  she  might  talk  and 
sometimes  ease  her  heart.  She  hoped  that  it  might  be  so, 
for  she  needed  chatter  and  laughter  and  the  common  sym 
pathies  of  youth,  as  a  caged  bird  requires  the  seed  of  its 
wild  life.  There  was  hope  in  the  new  farm-hand  which  swept 
into  her  heart  like  a  refreshing  breeze.  She  would  look  him 
over  and  sound  him  when  he  worked,  choring  between  kitchen 
and  barn. 

Ollie  had  been  a  poor  man's  child.  Isom  had  chosen  her 
as  he  would  have  selected  a  breeding-cow,  because  nature, 
in  addition  to  giving  her  a  form  of  singular  grace  and  beauty, 
had  combined  therein  the  utilitarian  indications  of  ability 
to  plentifully  reproduce  her  kind.  Isom  wanted  her  because 
she  was  alert  and  quick  of  foot,  and  strong  to  bear  the 
burdens  of  motherhood ;  for  even  in  the  shadow  of  his  decline 
he  still  held  to  the  hope  of  his  youth  —  that  he  might  leave 
a  son  behind  him  to  guard  his  acres  and  bring  down  his 
name. 

Ollic  was  no  deeper  than  her  opportunities  of  life  had 
made  her.  She  had  no  qualities  of  self-development,  and 
while  she  had  graduated  from  a  high  school  and  still  had 
the  ornate  diploma  among  her  simple  treasures,  learning 
had  passed  through  her  pretty  ears  like  water  through  a 
funnel.  It  had  swirled  and  choked  there  a  little  while,  just 
long  enough  for  her  to  make  her  "points"  required  for 
passing,  then  it  had  sped  on  and  left  her  unencumbered 
and  free. 

Her  mother  had  always  held  Ollie's  beauty  a  greater  asset 
than  mental  graces,  and  this  early  appraisement  of  it  al 
its  trading  value  had  made  Ollic  a  bit  vain  and  ambitious 
to  mate  above  her  family.  Isom  Chase  had  held  out  to  her 
all  the  allurements  of  whicli  she  had  dreamed,  and  she  had 
married  him  for  his  money.  She  had  as  well  taken  a  stone 


40  The  Bondbo?/ 


to  her  soft  bosom  in  the  hope  of  warming  it  into  yielding 
a  flower. 

Isom  was  up  at  four  o'clock  next  morning.  A  few  minutes 
after  him  Ollic  stumbled  down  the  stairs,  heavy  with  the 
pain  of  broken  sleep.  Joe  was  snoring  above-stairs ;  the 
sound  penetrated  to  the  kitchen  down  the  doorless  casement. 

"  Listen  to  that  feller  sawin'  gourds  !  "  said  Isom  crabbedly. 

The  gloom  of  night  was  still  in  the  kitchen  ;  in  the  corner 
where  the  stove  stood  it  was  so  dark  that  Ollic  had  to  grope 
her  way,  yawning  heavily,  feeling  that  she  would  willingly 
trade  the  last  year  of  her  life  for  one  more  hour  of  sleep 
that  moist  spring  morning. 

Isom  mounted  the  kitchen  stairs  and  roused  Joe,  lumber 
ing  down  again  straightway  and  stringing  the  milk-pails  on 
his  arms  without  waiting  to  see  the  result  of  his  summons. 

"  Send  him  on  down  to  the  barn  when  he's  ready,"  directed 
Isom,  jangling  away  in  the  pale  light  of  early  day. 

Ollie  fumbled  around  in  her  dark  corner  for  kindling,  and 
started  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove  with  a  great  rattling  of 
lids.  Perhaps  there  was  more  alarm  than  necessary  in  this 
primitive  and  homely  task,  sounded  with  the  friendly  inten 
tion  of  carrying  a  warning  to  Joe,  who  was  making  no 
move  to  obey  his  master's  call. 

Ollie  went  softly  to  the  staircase  and  listened.  Joe's 
snore  was  rumbling  again,  as  if  he  traveled  a  heavy  road 
in  the  land  of  dreams.  She  did  not  fcvl  that  she  could  go 
and  shake  him  out  of  his  sleep  and  warn  him  of  the  penalty 
of  such  remission,  but  she  called  softly  from  where  she 
stood: 

"Joe!     You  must  get  up,  Joe!" 

But.  her  voice  was  not  loud  enough  to  wake  a  bird.  Joe 
slept  on,  like  a  heavy-headed  boor,  and  she  went  back  to  the 
stove  to  put  the  kettle  on  to  boil.  The  issue  of  his  recal- 
citration  must  be  left  between  him  and  Isom.  If  he  had 


A  Dry-salt  Man  41 

good  blood  in  him,  perhaps  he  would  fight  when  Isom  lifted 
his  hand  and  beat  him  out  of  his  sleep,  she  reflected,  hoping 
simply  that  it  would  turn  out  that  way. 

Isom  came  back  to  the  house  in  frothing  wrath  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later.  There  was  no  need  to  ask  about  Joe,  for 
the  bound  boy's  nostrils  sounded  his  own  betrayal. 

Isom  did  not  look  at  Ollie  as  he  took  the  steep  stairs  four 
treads  at  a  step.  In  a  moment  she  heard  the  sleeper's  bed 
squeaking  in  its  rickety  old  joints  as  her  husband  shook 
him  and  cut  short  his  snore  in  the  middle  of  a  long  flourish. 

"  Turn  out  of  here ! "  shouted  Isom  in  his  most  terrible 
voice  —  which  was  to  Ollie's  ears  indeed  a  dreadful  sound 
—  "  turn  out  and  git  into  your  duds  !  " 

Ollie  heard  the  old  bed  give  an  extra  loud  groan,  as  if 
the  sleeper  had  drawn  himself  up  in  it  with  suddenness ; 
following  that  came  the  quick  scuffling  of  bare  feet  on  the 
floor. 

"  Don't  you  touch  me !  Don't  you  lay  hands  on  me ! " 
she  heard  the  bound  boy  warn,  his  voice  still  husky  with 
sleep. 

"  I'll  skin  you  alive ! "  threatened  Isom.  "  You've  come 
here  to  work,  not  to  trifle  your  days  away  sleepin'.  A  good 
dose  of  strap-oil's  what  you  need,  and  I'm  the  man  to  give 
it  to  you,  too  !  " 

Isom's  foot  was  heavy  on  the  floor  over  her  head,  mov 
ing  about  as  if  in  search  of  something  to  use  in  the  flagella 
tion.  Ollie  stood  with  hands  to  her  tumultuous  bosom,  pity 
welling  in  her  heart  for  the  lad  who  was  to  feel  the  vigor 
of  Isom's  unsparing  arm. 

There  was  a  lighter  step  upon  the  floor,  moving  across 
the  room  like  a  sudden  wind.  The  bound  boy's  voice  sounded 
again,  clear  now  and  steady,  near  the  top  of  the  stairs 
where  Isom  stood. 

"Put  that  down!     Put  that  down,  I  tell  you!"  he  com- 


42  The   lion dbo i/ 


inandcd.  "  I  warned  you  never  to  lift  your  hand  against 
me.  If  you  hit  MR-  \viih  that  I'll  kill  YOU  in  Your 
tracks!"  ' 

Olhc's  heart  leaped  at  the  words;  hot  blood  came  into 
her  face  with  a  surge.  She  clasped  her  hands  to  her  bn-a.-t 
in  new  fervor,  and  lifted  her  face  as  one  speeding  a  thankful 
prayer.  She  had  heard  Isoin  Chase  I h real ened  and  defied 
in  Ins  own  house1,  and  the  knowledge  that  one  lived  with 
the  courage  to  do  what  she  had  longed  to  do,  lifled  her 
heart  and  made  it  glad. 

She  heard  Isom  growl  something  in  his  throat,  muffled  and 
low,  which  she  could  not  separate  into  words. 

"Well,  then,  I'll  let  it  pass — flu's  time,"  said  Joe.  "Hut 
don't  you  ever  do  it  any  more.  I'm  a  heavy  sleeper  SOUR 
t:mes,  and  this  is  an  hour  or  two  earlier  than  I  am  used 
to  gel  !  ing  up;  hut  if  You'll  call  me  loud  enough,  and  talk 
like  A  ou  were  calling  a  man  and  not  a  dog,  you'll  have  n<> 
trouble  with  me.  Now  gi-t  or. t  of  here!" 

Ollie  could  have  shouted  in  the  triumph  of  that  moment. 
She  shared  the  hound  hov's  victory  and  exulted  in  his  high 
independence.  Isom  had  swallowed  it  like  a  coward;  now 
be  was  coming  down  the  stairs,  snarling  in  his  heard,  bir 
his  knotted  fist  had  not  enforced  discipline;  his  coarse, 
distorted  foot  had  not  been  lifted  against  his  new  slave 
She  felt  that  the  dawn  was  breaking  over  that  house,  tha' 
one  had  come  into  it  who  would  ease  her  of  its  terrors. 

Joe  came  along  after  Isom  in  a  little  while,  slipping  his 
suspenders  over  his  lank  .shoulders  as  he  went  out  of  (}}•• 
kitchen  floor.  lie  did  not  turn  to  Ollie  with  the  morning's 
greetings,  but  held  his  face  from  her  and  hurried  on,  she 
thought,  as  if  ashamed. 

Ollie  ran  to  the  door  on  her  nimble  toes,  the  dawn  of  a 
smile  on  her  face,  now  rosy  with  its  new  light,  and  looked 
after  him  as  he  hurried  away  in  the  brightening  day.  She 


A  Dry-salt  Man  43 

stood  with  her  hands  clasped  in  attitude  of  pleasure,  again 
lifting  her  face  as  if  to  speed  a  prayer. 

"  Oh,  thank  God  for  a  man! "  said  she. 

Isom  was  in  a  crabbed  way  at  breakfast,  sulky  and  silent. 
But  his  evil  humor  did  not  appear  to  weigh  with  any  shadow 
of  trouble  on  Joe,  who  ate  what  was  set  before  him  like  a 
hungry  horse  and  looked  around  for  more. 

Ollie's  interest  in  Joe  was  acutely  sharpened  by  the  inci 
dent  of  rising.  There  must  be  something  uncommon,  indeed, 
in  a  lad  of  Joe's  years,  she  thought,  to  enable  him  to  meet 
and  pass  off  such  a  serious  thing  in  that  untroubled  way. 
As  she  served  the  table,  there  being  griddle-cakes  of  corn- 
meal  that  morning  to  flank  the  one  egg  and  fragments  of 
rusty  bacon  each,  she  studied  the  boy's  face  carefully.  She 
noted  the  high,  clear  forehead,  the  large  nose,  the  fineness 
of  the  heavy,  black  hair  which  lay  shaggy  upon  his  temples. 
She  studied  the  long  hands,  the  grave  line  of  his  mouth, 
and  caught  a  quick  glimpse  now  and  then  of  his  large, 
serious  gray  eyes. 

Here  was  an  uncommon  boy,  with  the  man  in  him  half 
showing;  Isom  was  right  about  that.  Let  it  be  blood 
or  what  it  might,  she  liked  him.  Hope  of  the  cheer  that 
he  surely  would  bring  into  that  dark  house  quickened  her 
cheek  to  a  color  which  had  grown  strange  to  it  in  those 
heavy  months. 

Joe's  efforts  in  the  field  must  have  been  highly  satisfactory 
to  Isom  that  forenoon,  for  the  master  of  the  house  came  to 
the  table  at  dinner-time  in  quite  a  lively  mood.  The  morn 
ing's  unpleasantness  seemed  to  have  been  forgotten.  Ollie 
noticed  her  husband  more  than  once  during  the  meal 
measuring  Joe's  capabilities  for  future  strength  with  cal 
culating,  satisfied  eyes.  She  sat  at  the  table  with  them, 
taking  minute  note  of  Joe  at  closer  range,  studying  him 
curiously,  awed  a  little  by  the  austerity  of  his  young  face, 

4 


44 TJic  Hondbo?/ 

and  tlic  melancholy  of  his  eyes,  in  which  there  seemed  to  lie 
the  concentrated  sorrow  of  many  forebears  who  had  suffered 
and  died  with  burdens  upon  their  hearts. 

"  Couldn't  you  manage  to  pick  us  a  mess  of  dandelion 
for  supper,  Ollic?"  asked  Isom.  "I  notice  it's  comin'  up 
thick  in  the  yard." 

"I  might,  if  I  could  find  the  time,*'  said  Ollie. 

"Oh,  I  guess  you'll  have  time  enough,"  said  Isom,  severely. 

Her  face  grew  pale;  she  lowered  her  head  as  if  to  hide 
her  fear  from  Joe. 

"Cook  it  with  a  jowl,"  ordered  Isom;  "they  go  fine  to 
gether,  and  it's  good  for  the  blood.*' 

Joe  was  beginning  to  yearn  forward  to  Sunday,  when 
he  could  go  home  to  his  mother  for  a  satisfying  meal,  of 
which  he  was  sharply  feeling  the  need.  It  was  a  mystery 
to  him  how  Isom  kept  up  on  that  fare,  so  scant  and  un 
satisfying,  but  he  reasoned  that  it  must  be  on  account  of 
there  being  so  little  of  him  but  gristle  and  bone. 

Joe  looked  ahead  now  to  the  term  of  his  bondage  under 
Isom;  the  prospect  gave  him  an  uneasy  concern.  lie  was 
afraid  that  the  hard  fare  and  harder  work  would  result 
in  stunting  his  growth,  like  a  young  tree  that  has  come  to 
a  period  of  drought  green  and  promising,  and  stands  checked 
and  blighted,  never  again  to  regain  the  hardy  qualities  which 
it  needs  to  raise  it  up  into  the  beauty  of  maturity. 

The  work  gave  him  little  concern;  he  knew  that  he  could 
live  and  put  on  strength  through  that  if  he  had  the  proper 
food.  So  there  would  have  to  be  a  change  in  the  fare,  con 
cluded  Joe,  as  he  sat  there  while  Isom  discussed  the  merits 
of  dandelion  and  jowl.  It  would  have  to  come  very  early 
in  his  term  of  servitude,  too.  The  law  protected  the  bond 
man  in  that,  no  matter  how  far  it  disregarded  his  rights 
and  human  necessities  in  other  ways.  So  thinking,  he  pushed 
awav  from  the  table  and  left  the  room. 


A  Dry -salt  Man  45 


Isom  drank  a  glass  of  water,  smacked  his  dry  lips  over 
its  excellencies,  the  greatest  of  them  in  his  mind  being  its 
cheapness,  and  followed  it  by  another. 

"  Thank  the  Lord  for  water,  anyhow ! "  said  he. 

"Yes,  there's  plenty  of  that,"  said  Ollie  meaningly. 

Isom  was  as  thick-skinned  as  he  was  sapless.  Believing 
that  his  penurious  code  was  just,  and  his  frugality  the  first 
virtue  of  his  life,  he  was  not  ashamed  of  his  table,  and  the 
outcast  scraps  upon  it.  But  he  looked  at  his  young  wife 
with  a  sharp  drawing  down  of  his  spiked  brows  as  he  lingered 
there  a  moment,  his  cracked  brown  hands  on  the  edge  of 
the  table,  which  he  had  clutched  as  he  pushed  his  chair 
back.  He  seemed  about  to  speak  a  rebuke  for  her  extrava 
gance  of  desire.  The  frown  on  his  face  foreshadowed  it, 
but  presently  it  lifted,  and  he  nodded  shrewdly  after  Joe. 

"  Give  him  a  couple  of  eggs  mornings  after  this,"  said  he, 
"  they've  fell  off  to  next  to  nothing  in  price,  anyhow.  And 
eat  one  yourself  once  in  a  while,  Ollie.  I  ain't  one  of  these 
men  that  believe  a  woman  don't  need  the  same  fare  as  a 
man,  once  on  a  while,  anyhow." 

His  generous  outburst  did  not  appear  to  move  his  wife's 
gratitude.  She  did  not  thank  him  by  word  or  sign.  Isom 
drank  another  glass  of  water,  rubbed  his  mustache  and 
beard  back  from  his  lips  in  quick,  grinding  twists  of  his 
doubled  hand. 

"  The  pie-plant's  comin'  out  fast,"  said  he,  "  and  I  sup 
pose  we  might  as  well  eat  it  —  nothing  else  but  humans  will 
eat  it  —  for  there's  no  sale  for  it  over  in  town.  Seems  like 
everybody's  got  a  patch  of  it  nowadays." 

"  Well,  it's  fillin',  as  the  old  woman  said  when  she  swal 
lowed  her  thimble,  and  that  boy  Joe  he's  going  to  be  a  drain 
on  me  to  feed,  I  can  see  that  now.  I'll  have  to  fill  him  up 
on  something  or  other,  and  I  guess  pie-plant's  about  as 
good  as  anything.  It's  cheap." 


46 The  Bondboy 

"  Yes,  but  it  takes  sugar,"  ventured  Ollie,  rolling  some 
crumbs  between  her  fingers. 

"  You  can  use  them  molasses  in  the  blue  barrel,"  in 
structed  Isom. 

"It's  about  gone,"  said  she. 

"Well,  put  some  water  in  the  barrel  and  slosh  it  around 
—  it'll  come  out  sweet  enough  for  a  mess  or  two." 

Isom  got  up  from  the  table  as  he  gave  these  economic 
directions,  and  stood  a  moment  looking  down  at  his  wife. 

"  Don't  you  worry  over  fcedin'  that  feller,  Ollie,"  he  ad 
vised.  "I'll  manage  that.  I  aim  to  keep  him  stout  —  I 
never  saw  a  stouter  feller  for  his  age  than  Joe  —  for  I'm 
goin'  to  git  a  pile  of  work  out  of  him  the  next  two  years. 
I  saw  you  lookin'  him  over  this  morning,"  said  he,  approv 
ingly,  as  he  might  have  sanctioned  her  criticism  of  a  new 
horse,  "  and  I  could  see  you  was  lightin'  on  his  points.  Don't 
you  think  he's  all  I  said  he  was  ?  " 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  a  look  of  abstraction  in  her  eyes, 
her  fingers  busy  with  the  crumbs  on  the  cloth,  "all  you 
said  of  him  —  and  more!" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    SPARK    IN    THE    CLOD 

IT  DID  not  cost  Isom  so  many  pangs  to  minister  to  the 
gross  appetite  of  his  bound  boy  as  the  spring  weeks 
marched  into  summer,  for  gooseberries  followed  rhubarb, 
then  came  green  peas  and  potatoes  from  the  garden  that 
Ollie  had  planted  and  tilled  under  her  husband's  orders. 

Along  in  early  summer  the  wormy  codlings  which  fell 
from  the  apple-trees  had  to  be  gathered  up  and  fed  to  the 
hogs  by  Ollie,  and  it  was  such  a  season  of  blighted  fruit 
that  the  beasts  could  not  eat  them  all.  So  there  was 
apple  sauce,  sweetened  with  molasses  from  the  new  barrel 
that  Isom  broached. 

If  it  had  not  been  so  niggardly  unnecessar}',  the  faculty 
that  Isom  had  for  turning  the  waste  ends  of  the  farm  into 
profit  would  have  been  admirable.  But  the  suffering  attend 
ant  upon  this  economy  fell  only  upon  the  human  creatures 
around  him.  Isom's  beasts  wallowed  in  plenty  and  grew 
fat  in  the  liberality  of  his  hand.  For  himself,  it  looked  as 
if  he  had  the  ability  to  extract  his  living  from  the  bare  sur 
face  of  a  rock. 

All  of  this  green  truck  was  filling,  as  Isom  had  said,  but 
far  from  satisfying  to  a  lad  in  the  process  of  building  on 
such  generous  plans  as  Joe.  Isom  knew  that  too  much  skim- 
milk  would  make  a  pot-bellied  calf,  but  he  was  too  stubborn 
in  his  rule  of  life  to  admit  the  cause  when  he  saw  that  Joe 
began  to  lag  at  his  work,  and  grow  surly  and  sour. 

Isom  came  in  for  quick  and  startling  enlightenment  in 
the  middle  of  a  lurid  July  morning,  while  he  and  Joe  were 
at  work  with  one-horse  cultivators,  "  laying  by "  the  corn. 

47 


48  The  Bondboy 


Joe  threw  his  plow  down  in  the  furrow,  cast  the  lines  from 
his  shoulders,  and  declared  that  he  was  starving.  He 
vowed  that  he  would  not  cultivate  another  row  unless  as 
sured,  then  and  there,  that  Isom  would  make  an  immediate 
enlargement  in  the  bill-of-fare. 

Isom  stood  beside  the  handles  of  his  own  cultivator,  there 
being  the  space  of  ten  rows  between  him  and  Joe,  and  took 
the  lines  from  around  his  shoulders,  with  the  deliberate,  stern 
movement  of  a  man  who  is  preparing  for  a  fight. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  kind  of  capers?"  he  de 
manded. 

"  I  mean  that  you  can't  go  on  starving  me  like  you've 
been  doing,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it ! "  said  Joe.  "  The 
law  don't  give  you  the  right  to  do  that." 

"  Law !  Well,  I'll  law  you,"  said  Isom,  coming  forward, 
his  hard  body  crouched  a  little,  his  lean  and  guttered  neck 
stretched  as  if  he  gathered  himself  for  a  run  and  jump  at 
the  fence.  "  I'll  feed  you  what  comes  to  my  hand  to  feed 
you,  you  onery  whelp !  You're  workin'  for  me,  you  belong 
to  me!" 

"I'm  working  for  mother  —  I  told  you  that  before,"  said 
Joe.  "  I  don't  owe  you  anything,  Isom,  and  you've  got  to 
feed  me  better,  or  I'll  walk  away  and  leave  you,  that's  what 
I'll  do!" 

"Yes,  I  see  you  walkin'  away!"  said  Isom,  plucking  at 
his  already  turncd-up  sleeve.  "I'm  goin'  to  give  you  u 
tannin'  right  now,  and  one  you'll  not  forget  to  your  dyin' 
day  !  " 

At  that  moment  Isom  doubtless  intended  to  carry  out 
his  threat.  Here  was  a  piece  of  his  own  property,  as  much 
his  property  as  his  own  wedded  wife,  defying  him,  facing 
him  with  extravagant  demands,  threatening  to  stop  work 
unless  more  bountifully  fed!  Truly,  it  was  a  state  of  in 
surrection  such  as  no  upright  citizen  like  Isom  Chase  could 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 49 

allow  to  go  by  unreproved  and  unquieted  by  castigation  of 
his  hand. 

"  You'd  better  stop  where  you  are,"  advised  Joe. 

He  reached  down  and  righted  his  plow.  Isom  could  see 
the  straining  of  the  leaders  in  his  lean  wrist  as  he  stood 
gripping  the  handle,  and  the  thought  passed  through  him 
that  Joe  intended  to  wrench  it  off  and  use  it  as  a  weapon 
against  him. 

Isom  had  come  but  a  few  steps  from  his  plow.  He  stopped, 
looking  down  at  the  furrow  as  if  struggling  to  hold  him 
self  within  bounds.  Still  looking  at  the  earth,  he  went  back 
to  his  implement. 

"  I'll  put  you  where  the  dogs  won't  bite  you  if  you  ever 
threaten  my  life  ag'in ! "  said  he. 

"  I  didn't  ihreaten  your  life,  Isom,  I  didn't  say  a  word," 
said  Joe. 

"A  motion's  a  threat,"  said  Isom. 

"  I3ut  I'll  tell  you  now,"  said  Joe,  quietly,  lowering  his 
voice  and  leaning  forward  a  little,  "  you'd  better  think  a 
long  time  before  you  ever  start  to  lay  hands  on  me  again, 
Isom.  This  is  twice.  The  next  time " 

Joe  set  his  plow  in  the  furrow  with  a  push  that  sent  the 
swingletree  knocking  against  the  horse's  heels.  The  animal 
started  out  of  the  doze  into  which  it  had  fallen  while  the 
quarrel  went  on.  Joe  grinned,  thinking  how  even  Isom's 
dumb  creatures  took  every  advantage  of  him  that  oppor 
tunity  offered.  But  he  left  his  warning  unfinished  as  for 
words. 

There  was  no  need  to  say  more,  for  Isom  was  cowed.  He 
was  quaking  down  to  the  tap-root  of  his  salt-hardened  soul, 
but  he  tried  to  put  a  different  face  on  it  as  he  took  up  his 
plow. 

"I  don't  want  to  cripple  you,  and  lay  you  up,"  he  said. 
"  If  I  was  to  begin  on  you  once  I  don't  know  where  I'd  leave 


50  The  Bondboij 


off.  Git  back  to  your  work,  and  don't  give  me  any  more 
of  your  sass! " 

"  I'll  go  back  to  work  when  you  give  me  your  word  that 
I'm  to  have  meat  and  eggs,  butter  and  milk,  and  plenty  of 
it,"  said  Joe. 

"  I  orto  tie  you  up  to  a  tree  and  lash  you !  "  said  Isom, 
jerking  angrily  at  his  horse.  "I  don't  know  what  ever  made 
me  pity  your  mother  and  keep  her  out  of  the  poorhouse 
by  takin'  in  a  loafer  like  you !  " 

"Well,  if  you're  sick  of  the  bargain  go  and  tell  mother. 
Maybe  she  is,  too,"  Joe  suggested. 

"No,  you'll  not  git  out  of  it  now,  you'll  stick  right  here 
and  put  in  your  time,  after  all  the  trouble  and  expense  I've 
been  put  to  teachin'  you  what  little  you  know  about  farmin'," 
Isom  declared. 

lie  took  up  his  plow  and  jerked  his  horse  around  into  the 
row.  Joe  stood  watching  him,  with  folded  arms,  plainly  with 
no  intention  of  following.  Isom  looked  back  over  his  shoul 
der. 

"Git  to  work  !"  he  yelled. 

"You  didn't  promise  me  what  I  asked,"  said  Joe,  quietly. 

"  Xo,  and  that  ain't  all!"  returned  Isom. 

The  tall  corn  swallowed  Isom  and  his  horse  as  the  sea 
swallowed  Pharaoh  and  his  host.  When  he  returned  to  the 
end  of  the  h'eld  where  the  rebellion  had  broken  out,  he  found 
Joe  silting  on  the  beam  of  his  plow  and  the  well-pleased  horse 
asleep  in  the  sun. 

Isom  said  nothing,  but  plunged  away  into  the  tall  corn. 
When  he  came  back  next  time  Joe  was  unhitching  his  horse. 

"  Xow,  look  a-liere,  Joe,"  Isom  began,  in  quite  a  changed 
tone,  "don't  you  fly  up  and  leave  an  old  man  in  the  lurch 
that  way." 

"  You  know  what  I  said,"  Joe  told  him. 

"I'll  give  in  to  you,  Joe;  I'll  give  you  everything  you  ask 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 51 

for,  and  more,"  yielded  Isom,  seeing  that  Joe  intended  to 
leave.  "I'll  put  it  in  writing  if  you  want  me  to  Joe  —  I'll 
do  anything  to  keep  }Tou,  son.  You're  the  only  man  I  ever 
had  on  this  place  I  wouldn't  rather  see  goin'  than  comin'." 

Isom's  word  was  satisfactory  to  Joe,  and  he  returned  to 
work. 

That  turned  out  a  day  to  be  remembered  in  the  household 
of  Isom  Chase.  If  he  had  come  into  the  kitchen  at  noon  with 
all  the  hoarded  savings  of  his  years  and  thrown  them  down 
before  her  eyes,  Ollie  could  not  have  been  more  surprised  and 
mystified  than  she  was  when  he  appeared  from  the  smoke 
house  carrying  a  large  ham. 

After  his  crafty  way  in  a  tight  pinch  Isom  turned  neces 
sity  into  profit  by  making  out  that  the  act  wTas  free  and 
voluntary,  with  the  pleasure  and  comfort  of  his  pretty  little 
wife  underlying  and  prompting  it  all.  He  grinned  as  if  he 
would  break  his  beard  when  he  put  the  ham  down  on  the  table 
and  cut  it  in  two  at  the  middle  joint  as  deftly  as  a  butcher. 

"  I've  been  savin'  that  ham  up  for  you,  Ollie.  I  think 
it's  just  about  right  now,"  said  he. 

"  That  was  nice  of  you,  Isom,"  said  she,  moved  out  of  her 
settled  taciturnity  by  his  little  show  of  thought  for  her,  "  I've 
been  just  dying  for  a  piece  of  ham!" 

"  Well,  fry  us  a  big  skillctful  of  it,  and  some  eggs  along 
with  it,  and  fetch  up  a  crock  of  sweet  milk,  and  stir  it  up 
cream  and  all,"  directed  Isom. 

Poor  Ollie,  overwhelmed  by  the  suddenness  and  freedom  of 
this  generosity,  stood  staring  at  him,  her  eyes  round,  her  lips 
open.  Isom  could  not  have  studied  a  more  astounding  sur 
prise.  If  he  had  hung  diamonds  on  her  neck,  rubies  on  her 
wrists,  and  garnets  in  her  hair,  she  could  quicker  have  found 
hei-  tongue. 

"  It's  all  right,  Ollie,  it's  all  right,"  said  Isom  pettishly. 
"We're  going  to  have  these  things  from  now  on.  Might  as 


52 The   Rondboy 

well  eat  'em,  and  git  some  of  the  good  of  what  we  produce, 
as  let  them  city  people  fatten  off  'em." 

Isom  went  out  with  that,  and  Ollie  attacked  the  ham  with 
the  butcher  knife  in  a  most  savage  and  barbarous  fashion. 

Isom's  old  wife  must  have  shifted  in  her  grave  at  sight  of 
the  prodigal  re-past  which  Ollie  soon  spread  on  the  kitchen 
table.  Granting,  of  course,  that  people  in  their  graves  are 
cogni/ant  of  such  things,  which,  according  to  this  old  stand 
ard  of  comparison  in  human  amazement,  thcv  must  be. 

But  whether  the  old  wife  turned  over  or  lav  quiescent  in 
the  place  where  they  put  her  when  they  folded  her  tired  old 
hands  upon  her  shrunken  breast,  it  is  indisputable  that  the 
new  one  eased  the  pangs  of  many  a  hungry  dav  in  that  boun 
tiful  meal.  And  Joe's  face  glowed  from  the  fires  of  it,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled  in  the  satisfaction  of  his  long-abused 
stomach. 

Next  day  a  more  startling  thing  happened.  Twice  each 
week  there  passed  through  the  country,  from  farm  to  farm, 
a  butcher's  wagon  from  Shelbyville,  the  county-seat,  a  few 
miles  away.  Isom  Chase  never  had  been  a  customer  of  the 
fresh  meat  purveyor,  and  the  traveling  merchant,  knowing 
from  the  old  man's  notoriety  that  he  never  could  expect  him 
to  become  one,  did  not  waste  time  in  stopping  at  his  house. 
His  surprise  was  almost  apoplectic  when  Isom  stopped  him 
and  bought  a  soup-bone,  and  it  almost  became  fatal  when 
the  order  was  made  a  standing  one.  It  was  such  a  remarkable 
event  that  the  meat  man  told  about  it  at  every  stop.  It  went 
round  the  country  like  the  news  of  a  wedding  or  a  death. 

Isom  seemed  to  be  satisfied  with  the  new  dietary  regula 
tions,  for  hams  were  cheap  that  summer,  anyhow,  and  the 
season  was  late.  Besides  that,  the  more  that  Joe  ate  the 
harder  he  worked.  It  seemed  a  kind  of  spontaneous  effort 
on  the  lad's  part,  as  if  it  was  necessary  to  burn  up  the  energy 
in  surplus  of  the  demand  of  his  growing  bone  and  muscle. 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod  53 

Ollie  had  picked  up  and  brightened  under  the  influence  of 
ham  and  milk  also,  although  it  was  all  a  foolish  yielding  to 
appetite,  as  Isom  very  well  knew.  He  had  beaten  that  weak 
ness  in  himself  to  death  with  the  club  of  abstinence ;  for  him 
self  he  could  live  happily  on  what  he  had  been  accustomed 
to  eating  for  thirty  years  and  more.  But  as  long  as  the 
investment  of  ham  and  milk  paid  interest  in  kitchen  as  well  as 
field,  Isom  was  grudgingly  willing  to  see  them  consumed. 

Ollie's  brightening  was  only  physical.  In  her  heart  she 
was  as  gloomily  hopeless  as  before.  After  his  first  flash  of 
fire  she  had  not  found  much  comfort  or  hope  of  comradeship 
in  the  boy,  Joe  Newbolt.  He  was  so  respectful  in  her  pres 
ence,  and  so  bashful,  it  seemed,  that  it  almost  made  her 
uncomfortable  to  have  him  around. 

Man  that  he  was  in  stature,  he  appeared  no  more  than  a 
timid  boy  in  understanding,  and  her  little  advances  of  friend 
liness,  her  little  appeals  for  sympathy,  all  glanced  from  the 
unconscious  armor  of  his  youthful  innocence  and  reserve. 
She  was  forced  to  put  him  down  after  many  weeks  as  merely 
stupid,  and  she  sighed  when  she  saw  the  hope  of  comradeship 
in  her  hard  lot  fade  out  and  give  way  to  a  feeling  bordering 
upon  contempt. 

On  Sunday  evenings,  after  he  came  back  from  visiting  his 
mother,  Ollie  frequently  saw  Joe  reading  the  little  brown 
Bible  which  he  had  carried  with  him  when  he  came.  She  had 
taken  it  up  one  day  while  making  Joe's  bed.  It  brought  back 
to  her  the  recollection  of  her  Sunday-school  days,  when  she 
was  all  giggles  and  frills ;  but  there  was  no  association  of 
religious  training  to  respond  to  its  appeal.  She  wondered 
what  Joe  saw  in  it  as  she  put  it  back  on  the  box  beside  his 
bed. 

It  chanced  that  she  met  Joe  the  next  morning  after  she  had 
made  that  short  incursion  between  the  brown  covers  of  his 
book,  as  she  was  returning  from  the  well  and  he  was  setting 


54 The  Bondboy 

out  for  the  hog-lot  between  two  pails  of  sour  swill.  He  stood 
out  of  the  path  to  let  her  pass  without  stepping  into  the 
long,  dewy  grass.  She  put  her  bucket  down  with  a  gasp  of 
weariness,  and  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  a  smile. 

The  buckets  were  heavy  in  Joe's  hands  ;  he  stood  them  down, 
meeting  her  friendly  advances  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles, 
which  came  as  seldom  to  his  face,  thought  she,  as  a  humming 
bird  to  the  honeysuckle  on  the  kitchen  porch. 

"  Whew,  this  is  going  to  be  a  scorcher  !  "  said  she. 

"I  believe  it  is,''  he  agreed. 

From  the  opposite  sides  of  the  path  their  eyes  met.  Both 
smiled  again,  and  felt  better  for  it. 

"My,  but  you're  a  mighty  religious  boy,  aren't  you?"  she 
asked  suddenly. 

"Religious?"  said  he,  looking  at  her  in  serious  surprise. 

She  nodded  girlishly.  The  sun,  long  slanting  through  the 
cherry-trees,  fell  on  her  hair,  loosely  gathered  up  after  her 
sleep,  one  free  strand  on  her  check. 

"  Xo,  I'm  not  religious." 

"  Well,  you  read  the  Bible  all  the  time." 

"  Oh,  well !  "  said  he,  stooping  as  if  to  lift  his  pails. 

"Why?"  she  wanted  to  know. 

Joe  straightened  his  long  back  without  his  pails.  Beyond 
the  orchard  the  hogs  were  clamoring  shrilly  for  their  morning 
draught  ;  from  the  barn  there  came  the  sound  of  Isom's  voice, 
speaking  harshly  to  the  beasts. 

"  Well,  because  I  like  it,  for  one  thing,"  said  he,  "  and 
because  it's  the  only  book  I've  got  here,  for  another." 

"  Mv,  I  think  it's  a\vful  slow!"  said  she. 

"Do  you?"  he  inquired,  as  if  interested  in  her  likes  and 
dislikes  at  last. 

"  I'd  think  you'd  like  other  books  better  —  detective  stories 
and  that  kind,"  she  ventured.  "Didn't  you  ever  read  any 
other  book?  " 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod  55 

"  Some  few,"  he  replied,  a  reflection  as  of  amusement  in 
his  eyes,  which  she  thought  made  them  look  old  and  under 
standing  and  wise.  "  But  I've  always  read  the  Bible.  It's 
one  of  the  books  that  never  seems  to  get  old  to  you." 

"Did  you  ever  read  True  as  Steel?" 

"  No,  I  never  did." 

"Or  Tempest  and  Sunshine?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Oh-h,"  said  she,  fairly  lifting  herself  by  the  long  breath 
which  she  drew,  like  the  inhalation  of  a  pleasant  recollection, 
"  you  don't  know  what  you've  missed !  They  are  lovely ! " 

"Well,  maybe  I'd  like  them,  too." 

He  stooped  again,  and  this  time  came  up  with  his  pails. 

"  I'm  glad  you're  not  religious,  anyhow,"  she  sighed,  as  if 
heaving  a  trouble  off  her  heart. 

"Are  you?"  he  asked,  turning  to  her  wonderingly. 

"  Yes ;  religious  people  are  so  glum,"  she  explained.  "  I 
never  saw  one  of  them  laugh." 

"  There  are  some  that  way,"  said  Joe.  "  They  seem  to  be 
afraid  they'll  go  to  hell  if  they  let  the  Almighty  hear  them 
laugh.  Mother  used  to  be  that  way  when  she  first  got  her 
religion,  but  she's  outgrowing  it  now." 

"  The  preachers  used  to  scare  me  to  death,"  she  declared. 
"  If  I  could  hear  some  comfortable  religion  I  might  take  up 
with  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  everybody's  so  sad  after  they 
get  it.  I  don't  know  why." 

Joe  put  down  the  pails  again.  Early  as  the  day  was,  it 
was  hot,  and  he  was  sweating.  He  pushed  his  hat  back  from 
his  forehead.  It  was  like  lifting  a  shadow  from  his  serious 
young  face.  She  smiled. 

"A  person  generally  gets  the  kind  of  religion  that  he 
hoars  preached,"  said  he,  "  and  most  of  it  you  hear  is  kind 
of  heavy,  like  bread  without  rising.  I've  never  seen  a  laughing 
preacher  yet." 


56  Tlic   Hondboy 

"There  must  be  sonic,  though,"  she  reflected. 

"  I  hope  so/'  said  Joe. 

"I'm  (jlnd  you're  not  full  of  that  kind  of  religion,"  said 
she.  "  For  a  long  time  I  thought  you  were." 

"You  did?     Why?" 

"Oh,  because—  "  said  she. 

Her  cheek  was  toward  him;  he  saw  that  it  was  red,  like  the 
first  tint  of  a  cherry.  She  snatched  up  her  bucket  then  and 
sped  along  the  path. 

Joe  walked  on  a  little  way,  stopped,  turned,  and  looked 
after  her.  He  saw  the  flick  of  her  skirt  as  her  nimble  heels 
flew  up  the  three  steps  of  the  kitchen  porch,  and  he  wondered 
why  she  was  glad  that  he  was  not  religious,  and  why  she 
had  gone  away  like  that,  so  fast.  The  pigs  were  clamoring, 
shriller,  louder.  It  was  no  hour  for  a  youth  who  had  not 
yet  wetted  his  feet  in  manhood's  stream  to  stand  looking  after 
a  pair  of  heels  and  try  to  figure  out  a  thing  like  that. 

As  Joe  had  said,  he  was  not  religious,  according  to  cate 
chisms  and  creeds.  lie  could  not  have  qualified  in  the  least 
exacting  of  the  many  faiths.  All  the  religion  that  he  had  was 
of  his  own  making,  for  his  mother's  was  altogether  too  fero 
cious  in  its  punishments  and  too  dun  and  foggy  in  its  rewards 
for  him. 

He  read  the  Bible,  and  he  believed  most  of  it.  There  was 
as  much  religion,  said  he,  in  the  Commandments  as  a  man 
needed  ;  a  man  could  get  on  with  that  much  very  well.  Beyond 
that  he  did  not  trouble. 

He  read  the  adventures  of  David  and  the  lamentations  of 
Jeremiah,  and  the  lofty  exhortations  of  Isaiah  for  the  sonority 
of  the  phrasing,  the  poetry  and  beauty.  For  he  had  not 
been  sated  bv  manv  tales  nor  blunted  by  manv  books.  If  he 
could  manage  to  live  according  to  the  Commandments,  he 
sometimes  told  his  mother,  he  would  not  feel  uneasy  over  a 
better  wav  to  die. 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 57 

But  he  was  not  giving  this  matter  much  thought  as  he 
emptied  the  swill-pails  to  the  chortling  hogs.  He  was  think 
ing  about  the  red  in  Ollie's  cheeks,  like  the  breast  of  a  bright 
bird  seen  through  the  leaves,  and  of  her  quick  flight  up  the 
path.  It  was  a  new  Ollie  that  he  had  discovered  that  morning, 
one  unknown  and  unspoken  to  before  that  day.  But  why 
had  her  face  grown  red  that  way,  he  wondered?  Why  had 
she  run  away? 

And  Ollie,  over  her  smoking  pan  on  the  kitchen  stove,  was 
thinking  that  something  might  be  established  in  the  way  of 
comradeship  between  herself  and  the  bound  boy,  after  all.  It 
took  him  a  long  time  to  get  acquainted,  she  thought ;  but 
his  friendship  might  be  all  the  more  stable  for  that.  There 
was  comfort  in  it ;  as  she  worked  she  smiled. 

There  was  no  question  of  the  need  in  which  Ollie  stood  of 
friendship,  sympathy,  and  kind  words.  Joe  had  been  in  that 
house  six  months,  and  in  that  time  he  had  witnessed  more  pain 
than  he  believed  one  small  woman's  heart  could  bear.  While 
he  was  not  sure  that  Isom  ever  struck  his  wife,  he  knew  that 
he  tortured  her  in  endless  combinations  of  cruelty,  and  pierced 
her  heart  with  a  thousand  studied  pangs.  Often,  when  the 
house  was  still  and  Isom  was  asleep,  he  heard  her  moaning 
and  sobbing,  her  head  on  the  kitchen  table. 

These  bursts  of  anguish  were  not  the  sudden  gusts  of  a 
pettish  woman's  passion,  but  the  settled  sorrow  of  one  who 
suffered  without  hope.  Many  a  time  Joe  tiptoed  to  the 
bottom  of  the  staircase  in  his  bare  feet  and  looked  at  her,  the 
moonlight  dim  in  the  cheerless  kitchen,  her  head  a  dark  blotch 
upon  the  whiteness  of  her  arms,  bowed  there  in  her  grief. 
Often  he  longed  to  go  to  her  with  words  of  comfort  and  let 
her  know  that  there  was  one  at  least  who  pitied  her  hard 
fate  and  sad  disillusionment. 

In  those  times  of  tribulation  Joe  felt  that  they  could  be  of 
mutual  help  and  comfort  if  they  could  bring  themselves  to 


The  Bondboy 


speak,  for  lie  suffered  also  the  pangs  of  imprisonment  and 
the  longings  for  liberty  in  that  cruel  house  of  bondage.  Yet 
he  always  turned  and  went  softly,  almost  breathlessly,  back  to 
his  bed,  leaving  her  to  sob  and  cry  alone  in  the  struggle  of 
her  hopeless  sorrow. 

It  was  a  harder  matter  to  keep  his  hands  from  the  gristly 
throat  of  grim  old  Isom  Chase,  slumbering  unfeelingly  in  his 
bed  while  his  young  wife  shredded  her  heart  between  the  burr- 
stones  of  his  cruel  mill.  Joe  had  many  an  hour  of  struggle 
with  himself,  lying  awake,  his  hot  temples  streaming  sweat, 
his  eyes  staring  at  the  ribs  of  the  roof. 

During  those  months  Joe  had  set  and  hardened.  The 
muscles  had  thickened  over  his  chest  and  arms;  his  neck  was 
losing  the  long  scragginess  of  youth;  his  fingers  were  firm- 
jointed  in  his  broadening  hands.  lie  knew  that  Isom  Chase 
was  no  match  for  him,  man  to  man. 

But,  for  all  his  big  body  and  great  strength,  he  was  only 
a  boy  in  his  sense  of  justice,  in  his  hot,  primitive  desire 
to  lunge  out  quickly  and  set  the  maladjustments  of  that 
household  straight.  lie  did  not  know  that  there  was  a  thing 
as  old  as  the  desires  of  men  at  the  bottom  of  Ollie's  sorrow, 
nor  understand  the  futility  of  chastisement  in  the  case  of 
Isom  Chase. 

Isom  was  as  far  as  ever  from  his  hope  of  a  son  or  heir  of 
anv  description  —  although  he  could  not  conceive  the  possi 
bility  of  fathering  a  female  child  —  and  his  bitter  reproaches 
fell  on  Ollie,  as  they  had  fallen  upon  and  blasted  the  woman 
who  had  trudged  that  somber  course  before  her  into  the 
grateful  shelter  of  the  grave.  It  was  a  thing  which  Ollie 
could  not  discuss  with  young  Joe,  a  thing  which  only  a  sym 
pathetic  mother  might  have  lightened  the  humiliation  of  or 
eased  with  tender  counsel. 

Isom,  seeing  that  the  book  of  his  family  must  close  with 
him,  expelled  the  small  grain  of  tenderness  that  his  dry  heart 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 59 

had  held  for  his  wife  at  the  beginning,  and  counted  her  now 
nothing  but  another  back  to  bear  his  burdens.  He  mul 
tiplied  her  tasks,  and  snarled  and  snapped,  and  more  than 
once  in  those  work-crowded  autumn  days,  when  she  had 
lagged  in  her  weariness,  he  had  lifted  his  hand  to  strike.  The 
dav  would  come  when  that  threatened  blow  would  fall ;  of  that 
Ollie  had  no  consoling  doubt.  She  did  not  feel  that  she  would 
resent  it,  save  in  an  addition  to  her  accumulated  hate,  for 
hard  labor  by  day  and  tears  by  night  break  the  spirit  until 
the  flints  of  cruelty  no  longer  wake  its  fire. 

Day  after  day,  as  he  worked  by  the  side  of  Isom  in  the 
fields,  Joe  had  it  foremost  in  his  mind  to  speak  to  him  of  his 
unjust  treatment  of  his  wife.  Yet  he  hung  back  out  of  the 
Oriental  conception  which  he  held,  due  to  his  Scriptural  read 
ing,  of  that  relationship  between  woman  and  man.  A  man's 
wife  was  his  property  in  a  certain,  broad  sense.  It  would 
seem  unwarranted  by  an}r  measure  of  excess  short  of  murder 
for  another  to  interfere  between  them.  Joe  held  his  peace, 
therefore,  but  with  internal  ferment  and  unrest. 

It  was  in  those  days  of  Joe's  disquietude  that  Ollie  first 
spoke  to  him  of  Isom's  oppressions.  The  opportunity  fell 
a  short  time  after  their  early  morning  meeting  in  the  path. 
Isom  had  gone  to  town  with  a  load  of  produce,  and  Joe  and 
Ollie  had  the  dinner  alone  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  been 
under  that  roof. 

Ollie's  eyes  were  red  and  swollen  from  recent  weeping,  her 
face  was  mottled  from  her  tears.  Much  trouble  had  made  her 
careless  of  late  of  her  prettincss,  and  now  she  was  disheveled, 
her  apron  awry  around  her  waist,  her  hair  mussed,  her  whole 
aspect  one  of  slovenly  disregard.  Her  depression  was  so 
grc;it  that  Joe  was  moved  to  comfort  her. 

"  You've  got  a  hard  time  of  it,"  said  he.  "  If  there's 
anything  I  can  do  to  help  you  I  wish  you'd  let  me  know." 

Ollie  slung  a  dish  carelessly  upon  the  table,  and  followed 


(»:)  TJic  Hondbni/ 

it  with  Joe's  coliee,  which  she  slopped  half  out  into  the 
saucer. 

"Oh,  I  feel  just  like  I  don't  care  any  more!''  said  she,  her 
lips  trembling,  tears  starting  again  in  her  irritated  eves.  "I 
get  t  rent  meiit  here  that  no  decent  man  would  give  a  dog!*' 

Joe  felt  small  and  young  in  Olhe's  presence,  due  to  the 
fact  that  she  was  older  bv  a  year  at  least  than  himself. 

That  feeling  of  littleness  had  been  one  of  his  peculiarities 
as  long  as  he  could  remember  when  there  were  others  about 
older  than  himself,  and  supposed  from  that  reason  to  lie 
graver  and  wiser.  It  probably  had  its  IK  ginning  in  Jo> 's 
starting  out  rather  spindling  and  undersized,  and  not  grow 
ing  much  until  he  was  ten  or  thereabout,  when  he  took  a 
Midden  shoot  ahead,  like  a  water-sprout  on  an  apple-tree. 

And  then  he  always  had  regarded  matrimony  as  a  state  of 
gravity  and  maturity,  into  which  the  young  and  unsophisti 
cated  did  not  venture.  This  feeling  seemed  to  place  between 
them  in  Joe's  mind  a  boundless  gulf,  across  which  he  could 
oiler  her  only  the  sympathy  and  assistance  of  a  boy.  Th<  re 
was  nothing  in  his  mind  of  sympathy  from  an  equality  of 
years  and  understanding,  only  the  chivalric  urging  of  succor 
to  the  oppressed. 

"It's  a  low-down  way  for  a  man  to  treat  a  woman,  es;  e- 
ciallv  his  wife,"  said  Joe,  his  indignation  mounting  at  si;;ht 
of  her  tears. 

"Yes.  and  he'd  whip  you,  too,  if  he  dared  to  do  it,"  s,  id 
she,  siiiir.;;  in  Isom's  place  at  the  end  <;f  the  table,  wh*  re 
she  could  look  across  into  Joe's  face.  "I  can  see  that  in  h:m 
when  he  watches  you  cat.*' 

"I  hope  he'll  never  try  it,"  said  Joe. 

"You're  not   afraid  of  him?" 

'*Mavbe   not."   admitted   Joe. 

"Then  why  do  you  say  vou  hope  he'll  never  try  it?"  .-fie 
pressed. 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 


"  Oh,  because  I  do,"  said  Joe,  bending  over  his  plate. 

"  I'd  think  you'd  be  glad  if  he  did  try  it,  so  you  could  pay 
him  off  for  his  meanness,"  she  said. 

Joe  looked  across  at  her  seriously. 

"Did  he  slap  you  this  morning?"  he  asked. 

Ollic  turned  her  head,  making  no  reply. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  you  two  scuffling  around  in  the  kitchen 
as  I  came  to  the  porch  with  the  milk,"  said  he. 

"  Don't  tell  it  around  !  "  she  appealed,  her  eyes  big  and 
terrified  at  the  recollection  of  what  had  passed.  "  No,  he 
didn't  hit  me,  Joe;  but  he  choked  me.  He  grabbed  me  by  the 
throat  and  shook  me  —  his  old  hand's  as  hard  as  iron!" 

Joe  had  noticed  that  she  wore  a  handkerchief  pinned 
around  her  neck.  As  she  spoke  she  put  her  hand  to  her 
throat,  and  her  tears  gushed  again. 

'*  That's  no  way  for  a  man  to  treat  his  wife,"  said  Joe 
indignantly. 

"  If  you  knew  everything  —  if  you  knew  everything!  "  said 
she. 

Joe,  being  young,  and  feeling  younger,  could  not  see  how 
she  was  straining  to  come  to  a  common  footing  of  under 
standing  with  him,  to  reach  a  plane  where  his  sympathy 
would  be  a  balm.  He  could  not  realize  that  her  orbit  of 
thought  was  similar  to  his  own,  that  she  was  nearer  a  mate 
for  him,  indeed,  than  for  hairy-limbed,  big-  jointed  Isom 
Chase,  with  his  griz/led  hair  and  beard. 

"  It  was  all  over  a  little  piece  of  ribbon  I  bought  yesterday 
when  I  took  the  eggs  up  to  the  store,"  she  explained.  "  I 
got  two  cents  a  do/en  more  than  I  expected  for  them,  and  I 
put  the  extra  money  into  a  ribbon  —  only  half  a  yard.  Here 
it  is,"  said  she,  taking  it  from  the  cupboard;  "I  wanted  it 
to  wear  on  my  neck." 

She  held  it  against  her  swathed  throat  with  a  little  uncon 
scious  play  of  coquetry,  a  sad  smile  on  her  lips. 


62  The  liottdbo?/ 


"  It's  nice,  and  becoming  to  you,  too,"  said  Joe,  speaking 
after  the  manner  of  the  countryside  etiquette  on  such  things. 

"  Isoin  said  I  ought  to  have  put  the  money  into  a  package 
of  soda,  and  when  I  wouldn't  fuss  with  him  about  it,  that 
made  him  madder  and  madder.  And  then  he  —  he  —  did 
that!" 

"  You  wouldn't  think  Isom  would  mind  ten  cents,"  said 
Joe. 

"He'd  mind  one  cent,"  said  she  in  hitter  disdain.  "One 
cent-  -hu'i!  he'd  mind  one  egg!  Some  people  might  not. 
believe  it,  but  I  tell  you,  Joe,  that  man  counts  the  eggs  every 
day,  and  lie  weighs  every  pound  of  butter  I  churn.  If  I 
wanted  to,  even,  I  couldn't  hide  away  a  pound  of  butter  or  a 
do/cn  of  eggs  any  more  than  I  could  hide  away  that  stove.'' 

"But  I  don't  suppose  Isom  means  to  be  hard  on  you  or 
anybody,"  said  Joe.  "  It's  his  wav  to  be  close  and  stingv, 
and  he  may  do  better  by  you  one  of  these  days." 

"  Xo,  he'll  never  do  any  better,"  she  sighed.  "  If  anything, 
he'll  do  worse  —  if  he  can  do  any  worse.  I  look  for  him  to 
strike  me  next !  " 

"He'd  better  not  try  that  when  I'm  around!"  said  Joe 
hotly. 

"What  would  you  do  to  him,  Joe?"  she  asked,  her  yoice 
lowered  almost  to  a  whisper.  She  leaned  eagerly  toward 
him  as  she  spoke,  a  flush  on  her  face. 

"Well,  I'd  stop  him,  I  guess,"  said  Joe  deliberately,  as  if 
he  had  considered  his  words.  As  lie  spoke  he  reached  dov,  n 
for  his  hat,  which  he  always  placed  on  the  floor  beside  h;s 
chair  when  he  took  his  meals. 

"If  there  was  a  soul  in  this  world  that  cared  for  me- — if 
I  had  anywhere  to  go,  I'd  leave  him  this  hour!"  dec-land 
Ollie,  her  face  burning  with  the  hate  of  her  oppressor. 

Joe  got  up  from  his  chair  and  left  the  table;  she  rose  wjfh 
him  and  came  around  the  side,  lie  stopped  on  his  way  to 


TJie  Spark  in  the  Clod 03 

the  door,  looking  at  her  with  awkward  bashfulness  as  she 
stood  there  flushed  and  brilliant  in  her  tossed  state,  scarcely 
a  yard  between  them. 

"  But  there's  nobody  in  the  world  that  cares  for  me,"  she 
complained  sorrowfully. 

Joe  was  lifting  his  hat  to  his  head.  Midway  he  stayed 
his  hand,  his  face  blank  with  surprise. 

"Why,  you've  got  your  mother,  haven't  you?"  he  asked. 

"  Mother !  "  she  repeated  scornfully.  "  She'd  drive  me 
back  to  him ;  she  was  crazy  for  me  to  marry  him,  for  she 
thinks  I'll  get  all  his  property  and  money  when  he  dies." 

"  Well,  he  may  die  before  long,"  consoled  Joe. 

'"Die!"  said  she;  and  again,  "Die!     He'll  never  die!" 

She  leaned  toward  him  suddenly,  bringing  her  face  within 
a  few  inches  of  his.  Pier  hot  breath  struck  him  on  the  cheek ; 
it  moved  the  clustered  hair  at  his  temple  and  played  warm  in 
the  doorway  of  his  ear. 

"  He'll  never  die,"  she  repeated  in  low,  quick  voice,  which 
fell  to  a  whisper  in  the  end,  "  unless  somebody  he's  tramped 
on  and  ground  down  and  cursed  and  driven  puts  him  out  of 
the  way ! " 

Joe  stood  looking  at  her  with  big  eyes,  dead  to  that  fem 
inine  shock  which  would  have  tingled  a  mature  man  to  the 
marrow,  insensible  to  the  strong  effort  she  was  making  to 
wake  him  and  draw  him  to  her.  He  drew  back  from  her,  a 
little  frightened,  a  good  deal  ashamed,  troubled,  and  mys 
tified. 

"Why,  you  don't  suppose  anybody  would  do  that?"  said 
he. 

Ollie  turned  from  him,  the  fire  sinking  down  in  her  face. 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  don't  suppose  so,"  she  said,  a  little  distant  and 
cold  in  her  manner. 

She  began  gathering  up  the  dishes. 

Joe  stood  there  for  a  little  while,  looking  at  her  hands  as 


The 


they  iiew  from  plate  to  plate  like  white  butterflies,  as  if 
some-thing  had  stirred  in  him  that  he  did  not  understand. 
Presently  he  wen!  his  way  to  take  up  his  work,  no  more  word-; 
passing  between  them. 

Ollie,  from  under  her  half  raised  lids,  watched  him  go,  tip 
toeing  swiftly  ;ifter  h'm  to  the1  door  as  he  went  down  the  path 
toward  the  v.  ell.  Her  breath  was  quick  upon  h<  r  lips;  her 
breast  was  agitated.  If  that  slow  hunk  could  be  warmed 
with  a  man's  passions  and  desires;  if  sh'1  could  wake  Inm  • 
if  s!:e  into  his  heart!  lie  was  only  a  boy,  th' 

man  in  its  .strong  face  behind  that  mask  o:' 

wild,   long  hair.      If   lay   there  wailing  to  moye  him   in  wav 
ye!   strange  !o  I:'-'-  experience.     If  she  might  .send  her  whi>;<. 
to   that    s!i!i    slumbering   force  and  charge  it   into  life  a   da, 
before  its   time! 

She  stood  v  1  upon  the  door,  trailing  him  wiih  ! 

is  hr  pa-sed  on  io  tin-  barn.  She  felt  that  she  had  all 
but  reached  beyond  the  insulation  of  his  adolescence  in  lha: 
burning  moment  wlicn  her  breath  was  on  his  cheek  ;  she  knev. 
that  the  wood,  even  fli.i!  hour,  was  warm  tinder  the  fire. 
What  ni:'j,'li!  a  whisper  now,  a  smile  [hen,  a  kindness,  a  word. 
a  hand  ;a:d  s'.fllv  upon  h;s  hai/.  work  in  the  davs  to  come: 
turiK-d  back  to  h.ei-  work,  her  mind  stirred  out  of  it.- 
sluggish  rut,  (lie  swirl  of  her  new  thoughts  quickening  in  her 
blood.  Isom  Chase  would  not  d:<.  ;  he  would  live  on  and  on. 
harder,  drier,  stingier  vea.r  by  year,  unless  a  bolt  from 
heaven  withered  him  or  the  hand  of  man  hud  him  low.  What 
might  come  to  him.  he  deserved,  even  the  anguish  of  deal!) 
with  a  str  cord  about  h's  neck;  even  ihe  strong  blow 

of  an  ax  as  he  slept  on  his  bed.  snatching  from  him  the 
life  that  he  had  debased  of  all  its  beaut  v,  without  the  sav 
ing  chance  of  repentance  in  the  end. 

She  had   thought    of  doing  it   with   her  own  hand;  a  hun 
dred    ways    she    had    planned    and    contrived    it    in    her    nnnd. 


The  Spark  in  the  Clod 65 

goaded  on  nearer  and  nearer  to  it  by  his  inhuman  oppres 
sions  day  by  day.  But  her  heart  had  recoiled  from  it  as  a 
task  for  the  hand  of  a  man.  If  a  man  could  be  raised  up 
to  it,  a  man  who  had  suffered  servitude  with  her,  a  man  who 
would  strike  for  the  double  vengeance,  and  the  love  of  her 
in  his  heart! 

She  went  to  the  door  again,  gripping  the  stove-lid  lifter  in 
her  little  hand,  as  the  jangle  of  harness  came  to  her  when  Joe 
passed  with  the  team.  lie  rode  by  toward  the  field,  the  sun 
on  his  broad  back,  slouching  forward  as  his  heavy  horses 
plodded  onward.  The  man  in  him  was  asleep  yet,  yes ;  but 
there  was  a  pit  of  fire  as  deep  as  a  volcano's  throat  in  his 
slumbering  soul. 

If  she  could  lift  him  up  to  it,  if  she  could  pluck  the  heart 
out  of  him  and  warm  it  in  her  own  hot  breast,  then  there 
would  stand  the  man  for  her  need.  For  Isom  Chase  would 
not  die.  He  would  live  on  and  on,  like  a  worm  in  wood,  until 
some  strong  hand  fed  him  to  the  flames. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A    STRANGER    AT   THE    GATE 

RAIX  overtook  Isom  as  he  was  driving  home  from  town 
that  evening,  and  rain  was  becoming  one  of  the  few 
things  in  this  world  from  which  he  would  flee-.  It  aggravated 
the  rheumatism  in  his  knotted  toes  and  stabbed  his  knee- 
joints  with  awl-piercing  pains. 

For  upward  of  forty-live  years  Isom  had  been  taking  the 
rains  as  they  came  wherever  they  might  find  him.  It  made 
him  growl  to  turn  tail  to  them  now,  and  trot  to  shelter  from 
evcrv  shower  like  a  hen. 

So  lie  was  in  no  sweet  humor  as  lie  drew  near  his  own  barn 
yard  gate  with  the  early  autumn  downpour  already  finding 
its  way  through  his  coat.  It  came  to  him  as  he  approached 
that  portal  of  his  domain  that  if  he  had  a  son  the  boy  would 
be  there,  with  the  gate  flung  wide,  to  help  him.  It  was  only 
one  of  the  thousand  useful  offices  which  a  proper  boy  could 
fill  around  that  place,  thought  he;  but  his  wives  had  con 
spired  in  barrenness  against  him;  no  son  ever  would  come 
to  cheer  his  declining  days. 

Kven  if  he  had  the  kind  of  a  wife  that  a  man  should  have, 
reflected  he,  she  would  be  watching;  she  would  come  through 
rain  and  hail,  thunder  and  wild  blast,  to  open  the  gate  and 
ease  him  through  without  that  troublesome  stop. 

Matrimony  had  been  a  profitless  investment  for  him,  said 
he  in  bitterness.  His  first  wife  had  lived  long  and  eaten 
ravenously,  and  had  worn  out  shoes  and  calico  slips,  and  his 
second,  a  poor  unwilling  hand,  was  not  worth  her  keep. 

So,  with  all  this  sour  summing  up  of  his  wasted  ventures  in 
his  mind,  and  the  cold  rain  spitting  through  his  years-worn 

66 


67 


coat,  Isom  was  in  no  humor  to  debate  the  way  with  another 
man  when  it  came  to  entering  into  his  own  property  through 
his  own  wide  gate. 

But  there  was  another  man  in  the  road,  blocking  it  with  his 
top-buggy,  one  foot  out  on  the  step,  his  head  thrust  around 
the  side  of  the  hood  with  inquiring  look,  as  if  he  also  felt 
that  there  should  be  somebody  at  hand  to  open  the  gate  and 
let  him  pass  without  muddying  his  feet. 

"  Ho ! "  called  Isom  uncivilly,  hailing  the  stranger  as  he 
pulled  up  his  team,  the  end  of  his  wagon-tongue  threatening 
the  hood  of  the  buggy  ;  "  what  do  you  want  here?  " 

The  stranger  put  his  head  out  a  bit  farther  and  twisted 
his  neck  to  look  behind.  He  did  not  appear  to  know  Isom, 
any  more  than  Isom  knew  him,  but  there  was  the  surliness 
of  authority,  the  inhospitality  of  ownership,  in  Isom's  mien, 
and  it  was  the  business  of  the  man  in  the  buggy  to  know 
men  at  a  glance.  He  saw  that  Isom  was  the  landlord,  and 
he  gave  him  a  nod  and  smile. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  shelter  for  my  horse  and  buggy  for  the 
night,  and  lodging  for  myself,"  said  he. 

'*  Well,  if  you  pay  for  it  I  reckon  you  can  git  it,"  returned 
Isom.  "  Pile  out  there  and  open  that  gate." 

That  was  the  way  that  Curtis  Morgan,  advance  agent  cf 
the  divine  light  of  literature,  scout  of  knowledge,  torch-bearer 
of  enlightenment  into  the  dark  places  of  ignorance,  made  his 
way  into  the  house  of  Isom  Chase,  and  found  himself  in  due 
time  at  supper  in  the  low-ceiled  kitchen,  with  pretty  Ollie, 
like  a  bright  bead  in  a  rusty  purse,  bringing  hot  biscuits 
from  the  oven  and  looking  him  over  with  a  smile. 

Curtis  Morgan  was  a  slim  and  limber  man,  with  a  small 
head  and  a  big  mouth,  a  most  flexible  and  plastic  organ. 
Morgan  wore  a  mustache  which  was  cut  back  to  stubs,  giving 
his  face  a  grubby  look  about  the  nose.  His  light  hair  was 
short  and  thick,  curling  in  little  love-locks  about  his  ears. 


C>8  TJic   Itonrfbo?/ 


Morgan  sold  books.  lie  would  put  you  in  a  set  of  twenty- 
seven  volume's  of  the  History  of  lite  World  for  fifty-three 
dollars,  or  he  would  open  his  valise  and  sell  you  a  rcady- 
reckoner  for  six  hits.  He  carried  Household  Compcndiums  of 
f'xi'ftd  Knowledge  and  Medical  Adr'ixcra;  lie  had  poultry 
guides  and  horse  hooks,  and  books  on  bees,  and  if  he  couldn't 
sell  you  one  thing  he  would  sell  you  another,  unless  you  were 
a  worm,  or  a  greased  pig,  and  able,  by  some  extraordinary 
natural  or  artificial  attribute,  to  slip  out  of  his  hands. 

As-  h:i-;  been  the  case  with  many  a  greater  man  before  him, 
Morgan's  most  profitable  business  was  done  in  his  smallest 
arliL'le  of  trade.  In  the  country  where  men's  lives  were 
counted  too  short  for  all  the  work  they  had  to  do,  they  didn't, 
have  any  time  for  histories  of  the  world  and  no  intvrest 
in  them,  anvhow.  The  world  was  to  them  no  more  than  they 
ciiiild  see  of  it,  and  the  needs  of  their  lives  and  their  longings 
— save  in  some  adventurer  who  developed  among  them  now 
and  thru  —  went  no  farther  than  the  limit  of  their  vision. 

The  ready-reckoner  was,  therefore,  the  money-maker  for 
Morgan,  who  seemed  !o  carry  an  inexhaustible  supply.  It 
told  a  farm-hand  what  his  pay  amounted  to  by  days  and 
hours  down  to  the  fraction  of  a  cent  ;  it  told  the  farmer  what 
interest  on  his  note  would  be;  it  showed  how  to  find  out 
how  manv  bushels  of  corn  there  were  in  a  crib  without  measur 
ing  the  contents,  and  how  many  Ions  of  hay  a  stack  contained  ; 
it  told  how  to  draw  up  a  will  and  write  a  deed,  and  make 
liniment  for  the  mumps. 

Isom  drew  all  this  information  out  of  his  guest  at  supper, 
and  it  did  not  require  much  r'i'ort  to  set  the  sap  flowing. 

Morgan  talked  to  Isom  and  looked  at  Olhe;  he  asked  Joe 
a  question,  and  cocked  his  eye  on  Ollie's  face  as  if  he  expected 
to  iind  the  answer  there;  he  pronounced  shallow  platitudes 
of  philosophy  aiming  them  at  Isom,  but  looking  at  Ollie  for 
approval  or  dissent. 


69 


Isom  appeared  to  take  rather  kindly  to  him,  if  his  unusual 
volubility  indicated  the  state  of  his  feelings.  Pie  asked  Mor 
gan  a  great  deal  about  his  business,  and  how  he  liked  it,  and 
whether  lie  made  any  money  at  it.  Morgan  leaned  back  on 
the  hinder  legs  of  his  chair,  having  finished  his  supper,  and 
fumbled  in  his  waistcoat  pocket  for  his  goose-quill  pick.  He 
winked  at  Isom  on  the  footing  of  one  shrewd  man  to  another 
as  he  applied  the  quill  to  his  big  white  teeth. 

"  Well,  I  pay  my  way,"  said  he. 

There  was  a  great  deal  back  of  the  simple  words ;  there 
was  an  oily  self-satisfaction,  and  there  was  a  vast  amount  of 
portentous  reserve.  Isom  liked  it ;  he  nodded,  a  smile  moving 
his  beard.  It  did  him  good  to  meet  a  man  who  could  get 
behind  the  sham  skin  of  the  world,  and  take  it  by  the  heels, 
and  turn  it  a  stunning  fall. 

Next  morning,  the  sun  being  out  again  and  the  roads 
promising  to  dry  speedily,  Morgan  hitched  up  and  prepared 
to  set  out  on  his  flaming  path  of  enlightenment.  Before  going 
he  made  a  proposal  to  Isom  to  use  that  place  as  headquarters 
for  a  week  or  two,  while  he  covered  the  country  lying  about. 

Anything  that  meant  profit  to  Isom  looked  good  and  fitting 
in  his  eyes.  The  feeding  of -another  mouth  would  entail  little 
expense,  and  so  the  bargain  was  struck.  Morgan  was  to  have 
his  breakfast  and  supper  each  day,  and  provender  for 
his  horse,  at  the  rate  of  four  dollars  a  week,  payable  in 
advance. 

Morgan  ran  over  his  compendiums  and  horse  books,  but 
Isom  was  firm  for  cash;  he  suggested  at  least  one  rcady- 
rcckoncr  on  account,  but  Isom  had  no  need  of  that.  Isom 
could  guess  to  a  hundredweight  the  contents  of  a  stack 
of  hay,  and  there  never  was  a  banker  in  this  world  that 
could  outfigure  him  on  interest.  He  had  no  more  need  for  a 
ready-reckoner  than  a  centipede  has  of  legs.  Morgan,  seeing 
that  nothing  but  money  would  talk  there,  produced  the  week's 


70 The  Rondbo?/ 

charge  on  the  spot,  and  drove  off  to  his  day's  canvassing 
well  satisfied. 

Morgan  had  not  been  a  paying  guest  in  that  house  two 
days  before  the  somber  domestic  tragedy  that  it  roofed  was 
as  plain  to  him  as  if  he  had  it  printed  and  hound,  and  in  his 
valise  along  with  the  compendiums  of  his  valuable  assortment. 

lie  found  it  pleasant  to  return  to  the  farm  early  of  an 
afternoon  and  sit  in  the  kitchen  door  with  his  pipe,  and  watch 
Ollie's  face  clear  of  clouds  as  he  talked.  Consolation  and 
cheer  were  strangers  to  her  heart;  it  required  no  words  from 
her  to  tell  Morgan  that. 

Her  blushing  gratitude  for  small  offices  of  assistance,  such 
as  fetching  a  pail  of  water  or  a  basket  of  garden  greens, 
repaid  Morgan  all  that  he  missed  in  sales  by  cutting  short 
his  business  day  just  for  the  pleasure  of  returning  and  talk 
ing  with  her. 

Isoin  was  too  self-centered,  and  unconscious  of  his  wife's 
uncommon  prettiness,  to  be  jealous  or  suspicious  of  Morgan's 
late  goings  or  early  returns.  If  a  man  wanted  to  pay  him 
four  dollars  a  week  for  the  pleasure  of  carrying  up  water, 
cutting  stove-wood  or  feeding  the  calves,  the  fool  was  welcome 
to  do  it  as  long  as  his  money  held. 

So  it  was  that  old  Isoin,  blind  and  deaf  and  money-mad, 
set  with  his  own  hand  and  kindled  with  his  own  breath,  the 
insidious  spark  which  trustful  fools  before  his  day  have  seen 
leap  into  flame  and  strip  them  of  honor  before  the  eyes  of 
men. 

Morgan  made  a  long  stay  of  it  in  that  section,  owing  to  the 
density  of  the  population,  he  claimed,  and  the  proximity  of 
several  villages  which  he  could  reach  in  a  few  miles'  drive. 
He  was  in  his  third  week  when  Isom  was  summoned  on  jury 
service  to  the  county  seat. 

Twelve  dollars  had  passed  from  the  book  agent's  hands 
into  Isom's,  and  Isom  grinned  over  it  as  the  easiest  money 


A  Stranger  a1  the  Gate  71 

that  it  ever  had  been  his  pleasure  to  collect.  He  put  it  away 
with  his  savings,  which  never  had  earned  interest  for  a  banker, 
and  turned  the  care  of  the  farm  over  to  Joe. 

Jury  service  at  the  county  seat  was  an  uncertain  thing. 
It  might  last  a  day,  and  then  it  might  tie  a  man  up  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  but  Isom  was  able  to  leave  home  with  a  more 
comfortable  feeling  than  ever  before.  He  had  a  trustworthy 
servant  to  leave  behind  him,  one  in  whose  hands  everything 
would  be  safe,  under  whose  energy  and  conscientious  effort 
nothing  would  drag  or  fall  behind. 

Isom  felt  that  he  could  very  well  afford  to  spread  on  a 
little  soft-soap,  as  flattery  was  provinciallv  called,  and  invest 
Joe  with  a  greater  sense  of  his  responsibility,  if  possible. 
When  occasion  required,  Isom  could  rise  to  flattery  as  deftly 
as  the  best  of  them.  It  was  an  art  at  which  his  tongue  was 
wonderfully  facile,  considering  the  fact  that  he  mingled  so 
seldom  with  men  in  the  outside  doings  of  life.  His  wits  had 
no  foil  to  whet  against  and  grow  sharp,  save  the  hard  sub 
stance  of  his  own  inflexible  nature,  for  he  was  born  with 
that  shrewd  faculty  for  taking  men  "  on  the  blind  side,"  as 
they  used  to  call  that  trick  in  Missouri. 

"  I'm  turnin'  the  whole  farm  over  to  you  to  look  after  like 
it  was  your  own  while  I'm  away,"  said  he,  "and  I'm  doing  it 
with  the  feeling  that  it's  in  worthy  hands.  I  know  you're 
not  the  boy  to  shirk  on  me  when  my  back's  turned,  for  you 
never  tried  to  do  it  to  my  face.  You  stand  by  me,  Joe,  and 
I'll  stand  by  you  ;  you'll  never  lose  anything  by  it  in  the  end. 

"  I  may  be  a  crabbed  old  feller  once  in  a  while,  and  snarl 
around  some,  but  my  bark's  worse  than  my  bite,  you  know 
th.at  by  this  time.  So  I'll  put  everything  in  your  hands,  with 
a  feeling  that  it'll  be  looked  after  just  the  same  as  if  I  was 
here." 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  by  you,"  promised  Joe,  his  generous 
heart  warming  to  Isom  a  little  in  spite  of  past  indignities, 


The 


and  tlie  fact  that  Joe  knew  very  well  the  old  man's  talk  was 
art  ful  pretense. 

"I  know  you  will,''  said  Isoin,  patting  liis  shoulder  in 
fatherly  approbation.  "In  case  I'm  held  over  there  a  week, 
you  keep  your  eye  on  that  agent,  arid  don't  let  him  stay  here 
a  day  overtime  without  another  week's  board  in  advance/' 

*"  I'll  at  lend  to  him."  promised  Joe. 

Isom's  hand  had  lingered  a  minute  on  Joe's  shoulder  while 
lie  talked,  and  the  old  man's  satisfaction  over  the  depth  of 
muscle  that  he  felt  beneath  it  was  great,  lie  stood  looking 
Joe  over  with  quick-shifting,  calculating  eye*,  measuring  him 
in  every  part,  from  Hank  to  hock,  like  a  farrier.  lie  was 
gratified  to  see  how  Joe  had  filled  out  in  the  past  six  months. 
If  lu-  had  paid  for  a  colt  and  been  delivered  a  draft-horse,  his 
surprise  would  not  have1  been  more  pleasant. 

As  it  was,  he  had  bargained  for  thf  services  of  a  big- 
jomted,  long-boned  lad,  and  found  himself  possessed  of  a  man. 
The  fine  part  of  it  was  that  he  had  nearly  two  years  more  of 
service  at  ten  dollars  a  month  coming  from  Joe,  who  was 
worth  twenty  of  any  man's  money,  and  could  command  it. 
just  as  he  stood.  That  was  business,  that  was  bargaining. 

Isom's  starved  soul  distended  over  it  ;  the  feeling  was  warm 
in  his  veins,  like  a  gill  of  home-made  brandy.  Tie  had  him. 
bound  bodv  and  limb,  tied  in  a  corner  from  v,hich  he  could 
not  escape,  to  send  and  call,  to  fet ch  and  carr v,  lor  the  bet  tei 
part  of  two  good,  profitable  years. 

As  Isom  rode  awav  he  rubbed  his  drv,  hard  hands  above 
his  saddle-horn,  feeling  more  comfortable  than  h"  had  1'eli 
for  many  a  dav.  lie  gloated  over  the  excellent  bargain  Ilia' 
he  had  made1  with  the  Widow  Xewbolt  ;  he  grinned  at  the  roots 
of  his  old  rusty  beard.  If  e-ver  a  man  poke  el  him.-i-lf  in  \\\< 
ribs  in  the  cxevss  of  self-felicitatiem.  Isom  Chase  ehd  it  as  hi 
rode  along  e>n  his  e>!d  buckskin  horse  that  autumn  morning. 
with  the  sun  jus!  lifting  over  the'  hill. 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  73 

It  was  an  excellent  thing,  indeed,  for  a  patriot  to  serve 
his  country  once  in  a  while  on  a  jury,  thought  Isom,  es 
pecially  when  that  patriot  had  been  shrewd  in  his  dealings 
with  the  widow  and  orphan,  and  had  thus  secured  himself 
against  loss  at  home  while  his  country  called  him  abroad. 
Jury  duty  was  nothing  but  a  pleasant  season  of  relaxation  in 
such  case. 

There  would  be  mileage  and  per  diem,  and  the  state  would 
bear  the  expense  of  lodging  and  meals  in  the  event  of  his 
being  drawn  out  of  the  panel  to  serve  in  some  long  criminal 
case.  Mileage  and  per  diem  would  come  in  very  nicely,  in 
addition  to  the  four  dollars  a  week  that  loose-handed  book 
agent  was  paying.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  when  called 
upon  for  jury  service,  Isoni  went  to  meet  it  with  no  sourness 
in  his  face.  Mileage  and  per  diem,  but  best  of  all,  a  great 
strong  man  left  at  home  in  his  place;  one  to  be  trusted  in 
and  depended  upon ;  one  who  would  do  both  his  master's  work 
and  his  own. 

Joe  had  no  such  pleasant  cogitations  to  occupy  his  mind 
as  he  bent  his  long  back  to  assume  the  double  burden  when 
Isom  went  away.  For  many  days  he  had  been  unquiet  with 
a  strange,  indefinable  unrest,  like  the  yearn  of  a  wild-fowl 
when  the  season  comes  for  it  to  wing  away  to  southern  seas. 
Curtis  Morgan  was  behind  that  strong,  wild  feeling;  he  was 
the  urge  of  it,  and  the  fuel  of  its  fire. 

Why  it  was  so,  Joe  did  not  know,  although  he  struggled 
in  his  reason  to  make  it  clear.  For  man}7  days,  almost  from 
the  first,  Joe  had  felt  that  Morgan  should  not  be  in  that 
house ;  that  his  pretext  of  lingering  there  on  business  was 
a  blind  too  thin  to  deceive  anybody  but  Isom.  Anybody  could 
deceive  Isom  if  he  would  work  his  scheme  behind  a  dollar. 
It  was  a  shield  beyond  which  Isom  could  not  see,  and  had 
no  wish  to  inquire. 

Joe  did  not  like  those  late  starts  which  Morgan  made  of 


74 The  Romlbo?/ 

a  morning,  long  after  lie  and  Isoin  were  in  the  field,  nor  the 
early  homings,  long  before  they  came  in  to  do  the  chores. 
Joe  left  the  house  each  morning  with  reluctance,  after  Isonfs 
departure,  lingering  over  little  things,  finding  hitherto  undis 
covered  tasks  to  keep  him  about  in  the  presence  of  Ollic,  and 
to  throw  him  between  her  and  the  talkative  boarder,  who 
seemed  alwavs  hanging  at  her  heels.  Since  their  talk  at 
dinner  on  the  day  that  Morgan  came,  Joe  had  felt  a  new  and 
deep  interest  in  Ollie,  and  held  for  her  an  unaccountable  feel 
ing  of  friendliness. 

This  feeling  had  been  fed,  for  a  few  days,  by  Ollic,  who 
found  odd  minutes  to  talk  with  him  as  she  had  not  talked 
before,  and  bv  small  attentions  and  kindnesses.  She  had 
greeted  him  in  the  morning  with  smiles,  where  her  face  once 
wore  the  sad  mask  of  misery;  and  she  had  touched  his  hand 
sometimes,  with  encouraging  or  commending  caress. 

Joe  had  yielded  to  her  immediately  the  unreserved  loyalty 
of  his  unsophisticated  soul.  The  lot  of  his  bondage  was 
lightened  by  this  new  tie,  the  prospect  of  the  unserved  term 
under  Isom  was  not  so  forbidding  now.  And  now  this  fellow 
Morgan  had  stepped  between  them,  in  some  manner  bevond 
his  power  to  define.  It  was  as  one  who  beholds  a  shadow  fall 
across  his  threshold,  which  he  can  neither  pick  up  nor  cast 
away. 

Ollie  had  no  more  little  attentions  for  Joe,  but  endless 
solicitude  for  Morgan's  comfort  ;  no  more  full  smiles  for  him, 
but  onlv  the  reflections  of  those  which  beamed  for  the  chatter 
ing  lounger  who  made  a  pretense  of  selling  books  while  lie 
made  love  to  another  man's  wife. 

It  was  this  dim  groping  after  the  truth,  and  his  half- 
conception  of  it,  that  rendered  Joe  miserable.  lie  did  not 
fully  understand  what  Morgan  was  about,  but  it  was  plain  to 
him  that  the  man  had  no  honest  purpose  there.  lie  could 
not  repeat  his  fears  to  Isom,  for  Isom's  wrath  and  correction 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  75 

would  fall  on  Ollie.  Now  he  was  left  in  charge  of  his  master's 
house,  his  lands,  his  livestock,  and  his  honor. 

The  vicarious  responsibility  rested  on  him  with  serious 
weight.  Knowing  what  he  knew,  and  seeing  what  he  saw, 
should  he  allow  things  to  proceed  as  they  had  been  going? 
Would  he  be  true  to  the  trust  that  Isom  had  placed  in  him 
with  his  parting  word  in  standing  aside  and  knowingly  per 
mitting  this  man  to  slip  in  and  poison  the  heart  of  Isom's 
wife? 

She  was  lonely  and  oppressed,  and  hungry  for  kind  words, 
but  it  was  not  this  stranger's  office  to  make  green  the  barren 
ness  of  her  life.  He  was  there,  the  bondboy,  responsible  to  his 
master  for  his  acts.  She  might  come  to  him  for  sympathy, 
and  go  away  with  honor.  But  with  this  other,  this  man  whose 
pale  eyes  shifted  and  darted  like  a  botfly  around  a  horse's 
ear,  could  she  drink  his  counsel  and  remain  undeh'led  ? 

Joe  thought  it  up  and  down  as  he  worked  in  the  field  near 
the  house  that  morning,  and  his  face  grew  hot  and  his  eyes 
grew  fevered,  and  his  resentment  against  Morgan  rose  in  his 
throat. 

lie  watched  to  see  the  man  drive  away  on  his  canvassing 
round,  but  the  sun  passed  nine  o'clock  and  he  did  not  go. 
He  had  no  right  there,  alone  in  the  house  with  that  woman, 
putting,  who  could  say,  what  evil  into  her  heart. 

Ten  o'clock  and  the  agent's  buggy  had  not  left  the  barn. 
Joe  could  contain  himself  no  longer.  He  was  at  work  in  a 
little  stony  piece  of  late  clover,  so  rough  he  did  not  like  to 
risk  the  mower  in  it.  For  three  hours  he  had  been  laying 
the  tumbled  swaths  in  winding  tracks  across  the  field,  and 
he  had  a  verv  good  excuse  for  going  to  the  well,  indeed. 
Coupled  with  that  was  the  need  of  a  whet-rock,  and  behind 
it  all  the  justification  of  his  position.  He  was  there  in  his 
master's  place  ;  he  must  watch  and  guard  the  honor  of  his 
house. 


70  The 


Joe  could  not  set  out  on  that  little  trip  without  a  good 
deal  of  moral  cudgeling  when  it  came  to  the  point,  although 
he  threw  dov.n  his  scythe  with  a  muttered  curse  on  his  lips 
for  the  man  \\l;o  was  playing  such  an  underhanded  game. 

It  was  on  Ollie's  account  he  hesitated.  OIlie  would  think 
that  he  suspected  her,  when  tin-re  was  nothing  farther  from 
his  m:nd.  It  was  Morgan  who  would  set  the  snare  for  her 
to  trip  into,  and  it  was  Morgan  that  he  was  going  to  send 
about  his  business.  But  OIlie  might  take  offense  and  turn 
against  him,  and  make  it  as  unpleasant  as  she  had  shown 
that  she  could  make  it  agreeable. 

Hut  duty  wa.s  stronger  than  friendship.  It  was  stern  and 
implacable,  and  there  was  no  pleasant  road  to  take  around 
it  and  come  out  with  honor  at  the  other  end. 

Joe  made  as  much  noise  as  he  could  with  his  big  feet  —  and 
that  was  no  inconsiderable'  amount  —  as  he  approached  the 
house.  But  near  the  building  the  grass  was  long,  and  soft 
underfoot,  and  it  bore  Joe  around  to  the  kitchen  window 
silently.  His  lips  were  too  dry  to  whistle  ;  his  heart  was 
going  too  fast  to  carry  a  tune. 

lie  paused  a  little  way  beyond  the  window,  which  stood 
open  with  the  sun  falling  through  it,  listening  for  the  sound 
of  their  voices.  It  was  strangely  silent  for  a  time  when  the 
book-agent  was  around. 

Joe  went  on,  his  shadow  breaking  the  sunbeam  which 
whitened  the  kitchen  floor.  There  was  a  little  quick  start. 
as  he  came  suddenly  to  the  kitchen  door;  a  hurried  stir  of 
feet.  As  he  stepped  upon  the  porch  he  saw  Morgan  in  the 
door,  OIlie  not  a  yard  behind  him,  their  hands  just  breaking 
their  clasp.  Joe  knew  in  his  heart  that  Morgan  had  bei  u 
holding  her  in  his  arms. 

Ollie's  face  was  Hushed,  her  hair  was  disturbed.  Her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  like  troubled  water,  her  eyes  were  brighter 
than  Joe  ever  had  seen  them.  Even  Morgan  was  different, 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  77 

sophisticated  and  brazen  that  he  was.  A  flash  of  red  showed 
on  his  cheekbones  and  under  his  eyes ;  his  thin  nostrils  were 
panting  like  gills. 

Joe  stood  there,  one  foot  on  the  porch,  the  other  on  the 
ground,  as  blunt  as  honesty,  as  severe  as  honor.  There  was 
nothing  in  his  face  that  either  of  them  could  read  to  indicate 
what  was  surging  in  his  breast.  He  had  caught  them,  and 
they  wondered  if  he  had  sense  enough  to  know. 

Joe  pushed  his  hat  back  from  his  sweating  forehead  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  Morgan. 

"  Your  horse  sick,  or  something  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Morgan,  turning  his  back  on  Joe  with  a  little 
jerk  of  contempt  in  his  shoulders. 

"  Well,  I  think  he  must  be  down,  or  something,"  said  Joe, 
"  for  I  heard  a  racket  in  the  barn." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  and  see  what  was  the  matter  ?" 
demanded  Morgan  crossly,  snatching  his  hat  from  the  table. 

Ollie  was  drowned  in  a  confusion  of  blushes.  She  stood 
hanging  her  head,  but  Joe  saw  the  quick  turn  of  her  eyes 
to  follow  Morgan  as  he  went  away  in  long  strides  toward 
the  barn. 

Joe  went  to  the  tool-chest  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the 
kitchen  and  busied  himself  clattering  over  its  contents.  Pres 
ently  he  looked  at  Ollie,  his  hand  on  the  open  lid  of  the  box. 

"  Did  you  see  that  long  whetstone  lying  around  anywhere, 
Ollie  ?"  he  asked. 

She  lifted  her  head  with  a  little  start.  Joe  never  had 
called  her  familiarly  by  her  name  before.  It  always  had 
been  "  Missis  Chase,"  distant  and  respectful. 

"  No,  I  haven't  seen  it,  Joe,"  she  answered,  the  color 
leaving  her  cheeks. 

"  All  right,  Ollie,"  said  he,  holding  her  eyes  with  steady 
gaze,  until  she  shifted  hers  under  the  pain  of  it,  and  the 
questioning  reproach. 


78 The  liondboij 

Joe  slammed  down  the  lid  of  the  tool-chest,  as  if  with  the 
intention  of  making  as  much  noise  as  possible. 

There  was  something  in  the  way  he  had  spoken  her  name 
that  was  stranger  than  the  circumstance  itself.  Perhaps  she 
felt  the  authority  and  the  protection  which  Joe  meant  that 
his  voice  should  assume  ;  perhaps  she  understood  that  it 
was  the  word  of  a  man.  She  was  afraid  of  him  at  that 
moment,  as  she  never  had  been  afraid  of  Isom  in  all  their 
married  life. 

''I  suppose  Isom  put  it  away  somewhere  around  the  barn," 
said  Joe. 

"Maybe  he  did,  Joe." 

"I'll  go  down  there  and  see  if  I  can  find  it,"  he  said. 

Ollie  knew,  as  well  as  Joe  himself,  that  he  was  making  the 
whetstone  the  vehicle  to  carry  his  excuse  for  watching  Mor 
gan  away  from  the  farm,  but  she  was  not  certain  whether 
this  sudden  shrewdness  was  the  deep  understanding  of  a  man, 
or  the  domineering  spirit  of  a  crude  lad,  jealous  of  his  passing 
authority. 

The  uncertainty  troubled  her.      She  watched  him  from  the 
door  and  saw  him  approach  Morgan,  where  he  was  backing 
his  horse  into  the  shafts. 
''All  right,  is  he  ?"  asked  Joe,  stopping  a  moment. 

Morgan  was  distant. 

"  I  guess  he'll  live  another  day,  don't  worry  about  him," 
said  lie,  in  surly  voice. 

"What  time  do  you  aim  to  be  back  today?"  pursued 
Joe.  entiivlv  unmoved  bv  Morgan's  show  of  temper. 

"Say,  I'll  set  up  a  bulletin  board  with  my  time-table  on 
it  if  you've  got  to  have  it,  Mr.  Overseer!  '  said  Morgan, 
looking  up  from  the  buckling  of  a  shaft-strap,  his  face 
coloring  in  anger. 

"Well,  you  don't  need  to  get  huffy  over  it." 

"  Mind  vour  business  then,*'  Morgan  growled. 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  79 

He  didn't  wait  to  discuss  the  matter  farther,  but  got  into 
the  buggy  without  favoring  Joe  with  as  much  as  another 
glance,  gave  his  horse  a  vindictive  lash  with  the  whip  and 
drove  off,  leaving  the  gate  open  behind  him. 

Joe  shut  it,  and  turned  back  to  his  mowing. 

Many  a  time  he  paused  that  morning  in  his  labor,  leaning 
on  the  snath  of  his  scythe,  in  a  manner  of  abstraction  and 
seeming  indolence  altogether  strange  to  him.  There  was  a 
scene,  framed  by  the  brown  casing  of  the  kitchen  door,  with 
two  figures  in  it,  two  clinging  hands,  which  persisted  in  its 
disturbing  recurrence  in  his  troubled  mind. 

Ollie  was  on  dangerous  ground.  How  far  she  had  advanced, 
he  did  not  know,  but  not  yet,  he  believed,  to  the  place  where 
the  foulness  of  Morgan  had  defiled  her  beyond  cleansing.  It 
was  his  duty  as  the  guardian  of  his  master's  house  to  watch 
her,  even  to  warn  her,  and  to  stop  her  before  she  went  too  far. 

Once  he  put  down  his  scythe  and  started  to  go  to  the 
house,  his  mind  full  of  what  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  say. 

Then  there  rose  up  that  feeling  of  disparity  between  ma 
tron  and  youth  which  had  held  him  at  a  distance  from  Ollie 
before.  He  turned  back  to  his  work  with  a  blush  upon  his 
sun-scorched  face,  and  felt  ashamed.  But  it  was  not  a  thing 
to  be  deferred  until  after  the  damage  had  been  done.  He 
must  speak  to  her  that  day,  perhaps  when  he  should  go  in 
for  dinner.  So  he  said. 

Ollie  seemed  self-contained  and  uncommunicative  at  dinner. 
Joe  thought  she  was  a  little  out  of  humor,  or  that  she  was 
falling  back  into  her  old  gloomy  way,  from  which  she  had 
emerged,  all  smiles  and  dimples,  like  a  new  and  youthful 
creature,  on  the  coming  of  Morgan.  He  thought,  too,  that 
this  might  be  her  way  of  showing  her  resentment  of  the 
familiarity  that  he  had  taken  in  calling  her  by  her  name. 

The  feeling  of  deputy-mastership  was  no  longer  important 
upon  his  shoulders.  He  shrank  down  in  his  chair  with  a 


80  The  Itondboy 


sense  of  drawing  in,  like  a  snail,  while  he  burned  with  humili 
ation  and  shame.  The  pinnacle  of  manhood  was  too  slippery 
for  his  clumsy  feet  ;  he  had  plumped  down  from  its  altitudes 
as  swiftly  as  he  had  mounted  that  morning  under  the  spur 
of  duty.  He  was  a  boy,  and  felt  that  he  was  a  boy,  and  far, 
far  from  being  anything  nobler,  or  stronger,  or  better  quali 
fied  to  give  saving  counsel  to  a  woman  older,  if  not  wiser, 
than  himself. 

Perhaps  it  was  Ollie's  purpose  to  inspire  such  feeling,  and 
to  hold  .Joe  in  his  place.  She  was  neither  so  dull,  nor  so 
unpractised  in  the  arts  of  coquetry,  to  make  such  a  suppo 
sition  improbable. 

It  was  only  when  Joe  sighted  Morgan  driving  back  to 
the  farm  late  in  the  afternoon  that  his  feeling  of  authority 
asserted  itself  again,  and  lifted  him  up  to  the  task  before 
him.  He  must  let  her  understand  that  he  knew  of  what  was 
going  on  between  them.  A  few  words  would  suffice,  and  they 
must  be  spoken  before  Morgan  entered  the  house  again  to 
pour  his  poison  into  her  ears. 

Ollie  was  churning  that  afternoon,  standing  at  her  task 
close  by  the  open  door.  Joe  came  past  the  window,  as  he 
had  crossed  it  that  morning,  his  purpose  hot  upon  him,  his 
long  legs  measuring  the  ground  in  immense,  swift  steps.  He 
carried  his  hat  in  his  hand,  for  the  day  was  one  of  those 
with  the  pepper  of  autumn  in  it  which  puts  the  red  in  the 
apple's  cheeks. 

Ollie  heard  him  approaching  ;  her  bare  arm  stayed  the 
stroke  of  the  churn-dasher  as  she  looked  up.  Her  face  was 
bright,  a  smile  was  in  her  eyes,  revealing  the  clear  depths  of 
them,  and  the  life  and  the  desires  that  issued  out  of  them, 
like  the  waters  of  a  spring  in  the  sun.  She  was  moist  and 
radiant  in  the  sweat  of  her  labor,  and  clean  and  fresh  and 
sweet  to  sec. 

Her  dress  was  parted  back  from  her  bosom  to  bare  it  to 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  81 

the  refreshment  of  the  breeze,  and  her  skin  was  as  white  as 
the  cream  on  the  dasher,  and  the  crimson  of  her  cheeks 
blended  down  upon  her  neck,  as  if  the  moisture  of  her  brow 
had  diffused  its  richness,  and  spread  its  beauty  there. 

She  looked  at  Joe,  halted  suddenly  like  a  post  set  upright 
in  the  ground,  stunned  by  the  revelation  of  the  plastic  beauty 
of  neck  and  bare  bosom,  and,  as  their  eyes  met,  she  smiled, 
lifted  one  white  arm  and  pushed  back  a  straying  lock  of  hair. 

Joe's  tongue  lay  cold,  and  numb  as  wood  against  his 
palate ;  no  word  would  come  to  it ;  it  would  not  move.  The 
wonder  of  a  new  beauty  in  God's  created  things  was  deep 
upon  him  ;  a  warm  fountain  rose  in  him  and  played  and 
tossed,  with  a  new  and  pleasurable  thrill.  He  saw  and  ad 
mired,  but  he  was  not  ashamed. 

All  that  he  had  come  to  say  to  her  was  forgotten,  all 
that  he  had  framed  to  speak  as  he  bore  hastily  on  toward 
the  house  had  evaporated  from  his  heated  brain.  A  new 
world  turned  its  bright  colors  before  his  eyes,  a  new  breadth 
of  life  had  been  revealed,  it  seemed  to  him.  In  the  pleasure 
of  his  discovery  he  stood  with  no  power  in  him  but  to  trem 
ble  and  stare. 

The  flush  deepened  in  Ollie's  cheeks.  She  understood  what 
was  moving  in  his  breast,  for  it  is  given  to  her  kind  to  know 
man  before  he  knows  himself.  She  feigned  surprise  to  behold 
him  thus  stricken,  staring  and  silent,  his  face  scarlet  with 
the  surge  of  his  hot  blood. 

With  one  slow-lifted  hand  she  gathered  the  edffes  of  her 

I~  ~ 

dress  together,  withdrawing  the  revealed  secret  of  her  breast. 

"  Why,  Joe  !    What  arc  you  looking  at,  ?  "  she  asked. 

"You,"  he  answered,  his  voice  dry  and  hoarse,  like  that 
of  one  who  asks  for  water  at  the  end  of  a  race.  He  turned 
away  from  her  then,  saying  no  more,  and  passed  quickly 
out  of  her  sight  beyond  the  shrubbery  which  shouldered  the 
kitchen  wall. 


82  The  Hoiidboy 


Slowly  Ollic  lifted  the  dasher  which  had  settled  to  the 
bottom  of  the  churn,  and  a  smile  broke  upon  her  lips.  As 
she  went  on  with  the  completion  of  her  task,  she  smiled  still, 
with  lips,  with  eyes,  with  warm  exultation  of  her  strong 
young  body,  as  over  a  triumphant  ending  of  some  issue  long 
at  balance  and  undefined. 

Joe  went  away  from  the  kitchen  door  in  a  strange  da/e 
of  faculties.  For  that  new  feeling  which  leaped  in  him  and 
warmed  him  to  the  core,  and  gave  him  confidence  in  his 
strength  never  before  enjoyed,  and  an  understanding  of  things 
hitherto  unrevealed,  he  was  glad.  But  at  heart  lie  felt  that 
he  was  a  traitor  to  the  trust  imposed  in  him,  and  that  he 
had  violated  the  sanctity  of  his  master's  home. 

Xow  he  knew  what  it  was  that  had  made  his  cheeks  flame 
in  anger  and  his  blood  leap  in  resentment  when  he  saw  OIlie 
in  the  door  that  morning,  all  flushed  and  trembling  from 
Morgan's  arms  ;  now  he  understood  why  he  had  lingered  to 
interpose  between  them  in  past  (lavs.  It  was  the  wild,  deep 
fear  of  jealousy.  lie  was  in  love  with  his  master's  wife  ! 
\Vhat  had  been  given  him  to  guard,  he  had  looked  upon 
with  unholy  hunger  ;  that  which  had  been  left  with  him  to 
treasure,  he  had  defiled  with  lustful  eyes. 

Joe  struck  across  the  fields,  his  work  forgotten,  now  hot 
with  the  mounting  fires  of  his  newlv  discovered  passion,  now 
cold  with  the  swelling  accusation  of  a  trust  betrayed.  Jeal 
ousy,  and  not  a  regard  for  his  master's  honor,  had  prompted 
him  to  put  her  on  her  guard  against  Morgan.  lie  had 
himself  coveted  his  neighbor's  wife.  He  had  looked  upon 
a  woman  to  lust  after  her,  he  had  committed  adultery  in 
his  heart.  Between  him  and  Morgan  there  was  no  redeem 
ing  difference.  One  was  as  bad  as  the  other,  said  Joe.  Only 
this  difference  ;  he  would  stop  there,  in  time,  ashamed  now 
of  the  offending  of  his  eves  and  the  trespass  of  his  heart. 
Ollie  did  not  know.  lie  had  not  wormed  his  way  into  her 


A  Stranger  at  the  Gate  83 

heart  by  pitying  her  unhappiness,  like  the  false  guest  who 
had  emptied  his  lies  into  her  ears. 

Joe  was  able  to  see  now  how  little  deserving  Isom  was 
of  any  such  blessing  as  Ollie,  how  ill-assorted  they  were  by 
nature,  inclination  and  age.  But  God  had  joined  them, 
for  what  pains  and  penances  He  alone  knew,  and  it  was  not 
the  work  of  any  man  to  put  them  apart. 

At  the  edge  of  a  hazel  coppice,  far  away  from  the  farm 
house  that  sheltered  the  object  of  his  tender  thoughts  and 
furtive  desires,  Joe  sat  among  the  first  fallen  leaves  of 
autumn,  fighting  to  clear  himself  from  the  perplexities  of 
that  disquieting  situation.  In  the  agony  of  his  aching  con 
science,  he  bowed  his  head  and  groaned. 

A  man's  burden  of  honor  had  fallen  upon  him  with  the 
disclosure  of  a  man's  desires.  His  boyhood  seemed  suddenly 
to  have  gone  from  him  like  the  light  of  a  lamp  blown  out  by 
a  puff  of  wind.  He  felt  old,  and  responsible  to  answer  now 
for  himself,  since  the  enormity  of  his  offense  was  plain  to  his 
smarting  conscience. 

And  he  was  man  enough  to  look  after  Morgan,  too.  He 
would  proceed  to  deal  with  Morgan  on  a  new  basis,  himself 
out  of  the  calculation  entirely.  Ollie  must  be  protected 
against  his  deceitful  wiles,  and  against  herself  as  well. 

Joe  trembled  in  his  newer  and  clearer  understanding  of 
the  danger  that  threatened  her  as  he  hastened  back  to  the 
barn-yard  to  take  up  his  neglected  chores.  The  thought 
that  Morgan  and  Ollie  were  alone  in  the  house  almost  threw 
him  into  a  fever  of  panic  and  haste. 

He  must  not  be  guilty  of  such  an  oversight  again  ;  he 
must  stand  like  a  stern  wall  between  them,  and  be  able  to 
account  for  his  trust  to  Isom  with  unclouded  heart. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  SECRET  OF  THE  CLOVER 

UNTIL  the  time  he  had  entered  Isom  Chase's  house, 
temptation  never  had  come  near  Joe  Xewbolt.  lie 
never  had  kissed  a  maiden  ;  he  never  had  felt  the  quickening 
elixir  of  a  soft  breast  pressed  against  his  own.  And  so  it 
fell  that  the  sudden  conception  of  what  he  had  unwittingly 
come  to,  bore  on  him  with  a  weight  which  his  sensitive  and 
upright  mind  magnified  into  an  enormous  and  crushing  shame. 
While  his  intention  could  bear  arraignment  and  come  awav 
with  acquittal,  the  fact  that  he  had  been  perverted  enough 
in  the  grain,  as  he  looked  at  it,  to  drift  unknowingly  into 
love  with  another  man's  wife,  galled  him  until  his  spirit 
groaned. 

Isom  did  not  return  that  evening;  the  conclusion  of  his 
household  was  that  he  had  been  chosen  on  a  jury.  Thev 
discussed  it  at  supper,  Ollie  nervously  gay,  Morgan  full  of 
raucous  laughter,  Joe  sober  and  grudging  of  his  words. 

Joe  never  had  borne  much  of  a  hand  at  the  table-talk 
since  Morgan  came,  and  before  his  advent  there  was  none 
to  speak  of,  so  his  taciturnity  that  evening  passed  without 
a  second  thought  in  the  minds  of  Ollie  and  her  guest.  They 
had  words  enough  for  a  house  full  of  people,  thought  Joe. 
as  he  saw  that  for  everv  word  from  the  lips  they  sent  two 
speeding  from  their  eves.  That  had  become  a  language  to 
which  he  had  found  the  llosetta  Stone;  it  was  as  plain  to  him 
now  as  Roman  text. 

Perhaps  Morgan  regarded  her  with  an  affection  as  sincere 
as  his  own.  He  did  not  know;  but  he  felt  that  it  could  not 
be  as  blameless,  for  if  Joe  had  desired  her  in  the  uninterpreted 

84 


85 


passion  of  his  full  young  heart,  he  had  brought  himself  up 
to  sudden  judgment  before  the  tribunal  of  his  conscience. 
It  would  go  no  farther.  He  had  put  his  moral  foot  down 
and  smothered  his  unholy  desire,  as  he  would  have  stamped 
out  a  flame. 

It  seemed  to  Joe  that  there  was  something  in  Morgan's 
eyes  which  betrayed  his  heart.  Little  gleams  of  his  under 
lying  purpose  which  his  levity  masked,  struck  Joe  from  time 
to  time,  setting  his  wits  on  guard.  Morgan  must  be  watched, 
like  a  cat  within  leaping  distance  of  an  unfledged  bird.  Joe 
set  himself  the  task  of  watching,  determined  then  and  there 
that  Morgan  should  not  have  one  dangerous  hour  alone 
with  Ollie  again  until  Isom  came  back  and  lifted  the  responsi 
bility  of  his  wife's  safety  from  his  shoulders. 

For  a  while  after  supper  that  night  Joe  sat  on  the  bench 
beside  the  kitchen  door,  the  grape-vine  rustling  over  his  head, 
watching  Ollie  as  she  went  to  and  fro  about  her  work  of 
clearing  away.  Morgan  was  in  the  door,  his  back  against 
the  jamb,  leisurely  smoking  his  pipe.  Once  in  a  while  a 
snoring  beetle  passed  in  above  his  head  to  join  his  fellows 
around  the  lamp.  As  each  recruit  to  the  blundering  com 
pany  arrived,  Morgan  slapped  at  him  as  he  passed,  making 
Ollie  laugh.  On  the  low,  splotched  ceiling  of  the  kitchen  the 
flies  shifted  and  buzzed,  changing  drowsily  from  place  to 
place. 

"  Isom  ought  to  put  screens  on  the  windows  and  doors," 
said  Morgan,  looking  up  at  the  flies. 

"  Mosquito  bar,  you  mean  ? "  asked  Ollie,  throwing  him 
a  smile  over  her  shoulder  as  she  passed. 

"No,  I  mean  wire-screens,  everybody's  gettiir  'ein  in  now  ; 
I've  been  thinkin'  of  takin'  'em  on  as  a  side-line." 

"It'll  be  a  cold  day  in  July  when  Isom  spends  any  money 
just  to  keep  flics  out  of  his  house!"  said  she. 

Morgan  laughed. 


86  TJic  Rondboy 


"Maybe  if  a  person  could  show  him  that  they  eat  up  a 
lot  of  stufT  he'd  come  around  to  it,"  Morgan  said. 

"Maybe,''  said  Ollie,  and  both  of  them  had  their  laugh 
again. 

Joe  moved  on  tlic  bench,  making  it  creak,  an  uneasy  feeling 
coming  over  him.  Close  as  Isom  was,  and  hard-handed  and 
mean,  Joe  felt  that  there  was  a  certain  indelicacy  in  his 
wife's  discussion  of  his  traits  with  a  stranger. 

Ollie  had  cleared  away  the  dishes,  washed  them  and  placed 
them  in  the  cupboard,  on  top  of  which  the  one  clock  of  that 
household  stood,  scar-faced,  hut  hoarse-voiced  when  it  struck, 
and  strong  as  the  challenge  of  an  old  cock.  Already  it 
had  struck  nine,  for  they  had  hcen  late  in  coming  to  supper, 
owing  to  Joe's  long  set-to  with  his  conscience  at  the  edge  of 
the  ha/el-copse  in  the  woods. 

Joe  got  up,  stretching  his  arms,  yawning. 

"Goin'  to  he'd,  heh  ?"  asked  Morgan. 

"No,  I  don't  seem  to  feel  sleepy  tonight/'  Joe  replied. 

He  went  into  the  kitchen  and  sat  at  the  table,  his  elbows 
on  the  hoard,  his  head  in  his  hands,  as  if  turning  over  some 
difficult  problem  in  his  mind.  Presently  he  fell  to  raking  his 
shaggy  hair  with  his  long  fingers;  in  a  moment  it  was  as 
disorderly  as  the  swaths  of  clover  hay  lying  out  in  the  moon 
light  in  the  little  stone-set  field. 

Morgan  had  filled  his  pipe,  and  was  after  a  match  at  the 
box  behind  the  stove,  with  the  familiarity  of  a  household 
inmate.  lie  winked  at  Ollie,  who  was  then  pulling  down  her 
sleeves,  her  long  day's  work  hcing  done. 

"Well,  do  you  think  you'll  be  elected  ?"  he  asked,  lounging 
across  to  Joe,  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

Morgan  wore  a  shirt  as  gay-striped  as  a  Persian  tent,  and 
he  had  removed  his  coat  so  the  world,  or  such  of  it  as  was 
present  in  the  kitchen,  might  behold  it  and  admire.  Joe 
withdrew  his  hands  from  his  forelock  and  looked  at  Morgan 


The  Secret  of  the  Clover 


curiously.  The  lad's  eyes  were  sleep-heavy  and  red,  and 
he  was  almost  as  dull-looking,  perhaps,  as  Morgan  imagined 
him  to  be. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  asked  you  if  you  thought  you'd  be  elected  this  fall," 
repeated  Morgan,  in  mock  seriousness. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Joe,  turning  from 
him  indifferently. 

"  Why,  ain't  you  runnin'  for  President  on  the  squash-vine 
ticket  ?"  asked  Morgan.  "  I  heard  you  was  the  can'idate." 

Joe  got  up  from  the  table  and  moved  his  chair  away  with 
his  foot.  As  he  was  thus  occupied  he  saw  Ollie's  shadow 
on  the  wall  repeat  a  gesture  of  caution  which  she  made  to 
Morgan,  a  lifting  of  the  hand,  a  shaking  of  the  head.  Even 
the  shadow  betrayed  the  intimate  understanding  between 
them.  Joe  went  over  and  stood  in  the  door. 

"  No  use  for  you  to  try  to  be  a  fool,  Morgan  ;  that's  been 
attended  to  for  you  already,"  said  he. 

There  wasn't  much  heart  in  Morgan's  laugh,  but  it  would 
pass  for  one  on  account  of  the  volume  of  sound. 

"  Oh,  let  a  feller  have  his  joke,  won't  you,  Joe  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Go  ahead,"  granted  Joe,  leaning  his  shoulder  against 
the  jamb,  facing  out  toward  the  dark. 

Morgan  went  over  and  put  his  hand  on  the  great  lad's 
shoulder,  with  a  show  of  friendly  condescension. 

"What  would  the  world  be  without  its  jokes  ?"  he  asked. 
And  then,  before  anybody  could  answer :  "  It'd  be  like  home 
without  a  mother." 

Joe  faced  him,  a  slow  grin  spreading  back  to  his  ears. 

"  Or  a  ready-reckoner,"  said  he. 

Morgan's  laugh  that  time  was  unfeigned. 

"  Joe,  you've  missed  your  callin',"  said  he.  "  You've  got 
no  business  foolin'  away  your  time  on  a  farm.  With  that 
solemn,  long-hungry  look  of  yours  you  ought  to  be  sellin' 


88  The 


consumption  cure  and  ringbone  ointment  from  the  end  of  a 

wagon  on  the  square  in  Kansas  City.*' 

4%()r  hooks,  inavhe,1"  suggested  .Toe. 

"\o-o-o,"  said  Morgan  thoughtfully,  "I  wouldn't  just 
say  you're  up  to  the  level  of  hooks.  But  YOU  might  rise  even 
to  hooks  if  you'd  cultivate  your  mind  and  brain.  Well,  I 
think  I'll  flv  up  to  roost.  I've  got  to  take  an  carlv  start  in 
the  morning  and  clean  up  on  this  neck  of  the  woods  tomorrow. 
Good  night,  folks.'' 

"I  don't  suppose  Isom  '11  be  home  tonight,"  Ollic  ventured, 
as  Morgan's  feet  sounded  on  the  stairs. 

"  Xo,  I  guess  not,''  Joe  agreed,  staring  thoughtfully  at  the 
black  oblong  of  the  door. 

"  If  he  dot's  come,  I  don't  suppose  it'll  hurt  him  to  cat 
something  cold,"  she  said. 

'*  I'll  wait  up  a  while  longer.  If  he  comes  I  can  warm 
up  the  col'IVe  for  him,"  Joe  offered. 

"  Then  I'll  go  to  bed.  too."  she  yawned  wearily. 

"  Yes,  you'd  better  go,"  said  he. 

Ollie's  room,  which  was  Isom's  also  when  he  was  there, 
was  in  the  front  of  the  house,  upstairs.  Joe  heard  her  feet 
along  the  hall,  and  her  door  close  after  her.  Morgan  was 
still  tramping  about  in  the  room  next  to  Joe's,  where  he  slept. 
It  was  the  best  room  in  the  house,  better  than  the  one  shared 
by  Isom  and  his  wife,  and  in  the  end  of  the  house  opposite 
to  it.  Joe  sat  quietlv  at  the  table  until  Morgan's  complaining 
bed-springs  told  him  that  the  guest  had  retired.  Then  he 
mounted  the  narrow  kitchen  stairs  to  his  own  chamber. 

Joe  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  bed  and  pulled  oil'  his  boots, 
dropping  them  noisilv  on  the  floor.  Then,  with  shirt  and 
trousers  on,  he  drew  the  quilt  from  his  bed,  took  his  pillow 
under  his  arm,  and  opened  the  door  into  the  hall  which 
divided  the  house  from  end  to  end. 

The  moon  was  shining  in  through  the  double  window  in  the 


Tlie  Secret  of  the  Clover 89 

end  toward  Ollie's  room  ;  it  lay  on  the  white  floor,  almost 
as  bright  as  the  sun.  Within  five  feet  of  that  splash  of 
moonlight  Joe  spread  his  quilt.  There  he  set  his  pillow 
and  stretched  his  long  body  diagonally  across  the  narrow 
hall,  blocking  it  like  a  gate. 

Joe  roused  Morgan  next  morning  at  dawn,  and  busied 
himself  with  making  a  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove  and  bringing 
water  from  the  well  until  the  guest  came  down  to  feed  his 
horse.  Morgan  was  in  a  crusty  humor.  He  had  very  little 
to  say,  and  Joe  did  not  feel  that  the  world  was  any  poorer 
for  his  silence. 

"  This  will  be  my  last  meal  with  you,"  announced  Morgan 
at  breakfast.  "  I'll  not  be  back  tonight," 

Ollie  was  paler  than  usual,  Joe  noticed,  and  a  cloud  of 
dejection  seemed  to  have  settled  over  her  during  the  night. 
She  did  not  appear  to  be  great!}'  interested  in  Morgan's 
statement,  although  she  looked  up  from  her  breakfast  with 
a  little  show  of  friendly  politeness.  Joe  thought  that  she 
did  not  seem  to  care  for  the  agent ;  the  tightness  in  his 
breast  was  suddenly  and  gratefully  eased. 

"  You  haven't  finished  out  your  week,  there'll  be  something 
coming  to  you  on  what  3Tou've  paid  in  advance,"  said  she. 

"  Let  that  go,"  said  Morgan,  obliterating  all  claim  with 
a  sweep  of  his  hand. 

"  I  think  you'd  better  take  back  what's  coming  to  you,"' 
suggested  Joe. 

Morgan  turned  to  him  with  stiff  severity. 

"Are  3rou  the  watch-dog  of  the  old  man's  treasurv?"  he 
sneered. 

"Maybe  I  am,  for  a  day  or  two,"  returned  Joe,  "and  if 
you  step  on  me  I'll  bite." 

He  leveled  his  steady  gray  eyes  at  Morgan's  shifting  orbs, 
and  held  them  there  as  if  to  drive  in  some  hidden  import  of 
his  words.  Morgan  seemed  to  understand.  He  colored, 


90  The  Bondboy 


laughed  shortly,  and  busied  himself  buttering  a  griddle-cake. 

Ollic,  pale  and  silent,  had  not  looked  up  during  this  by- 
passage  between  the  two  men.  Her  manner  was  of  one  who 
expected  something,  which  she  dreaded  and  feared  to  face. 

Morgan  took  the  road  early.  Joe  saw  him  go  with  a 
feeling  of  relief.  lie  felt  like  a  swollen  barrel  which  had 
burst  its  close-binding  hoops,  he  thought,  as  he  went  back 
to  the  place  where  he  dropped  his  scythe  yesterday. 

As  he  worked  through  the  long  morning  hours  Joe 
struggled  to  adjust  himself  to  the  new  conditions,  resulting 
from  the  discovery  of  his  own  enlargement  and  understanding. 
It  would  be  a  harder  matter  now  to  go  on  living  there  with 
Ollie.  Kach  day  would  be  a  trial  by  fire,  the  weeks  and 
months  a  lengthening  highway  strewn  with  the  embers  of  his 
own  smoldering  passion.  Something  might  happen,  almost 
any  day,  youth  and  youth  together,  galled  bv  the  same  hand 
of  oppression,  that  would  overturn  his  peace  forever.  Yet, 
he  could  not  leave.  The  bond  of  his  mother's  making, 
stamped  with  the  seal  of  the  law,  held  him  captive  there. 

At  length,  after  spending  a  harrowing  morning  over  it,  he 
reached  the  determination  to  stand  up  to  it  like  a  man,  and 
serve  Isom  as  long  as  he  could  do  so  without  treason.  When 
the  day  came  that  his  spirit  weakened  and  his  continence 
failed,  he  would  throw  down  the  burden  and  desert.  That  he 
would  do,  even  though  his  mother's  hopes  must  fall  and  his 
own  dreams  of  redeeming  the  place  of  his  birth,  to  which  he 
was  attached  by  a  sentiment  almost  poetic,  must  dissolve  like 
vapor  in  the  sun. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Joe  finished  his  mowing  and 
stood  casting  his  eves  up  to  the  skv  for  signs  of  rain.  Then- 
being  none,  lie  concluded  that  it  would  be  safe  to  allow 
yesterday's  cutting  to  lie  another  night  in  the  field  while  he 
put  in  the  remainder  of  the  day  with  his  scythe  in  the  lower 
orchard  plot,  where  the  clover  grew  rank  among  the  trees. 


91 


Satisfied  that  he  had  made  a  showing  thus  far  with  which 
Isom  could  find  no  fault,  Joe  tucked  the  snath  of  his  scythe 
under  his  arm  and  set  out  for  that  part  of  the  orchard 
which  lay  beyond  the  hill,  out  of  sight  of  the  barn  and 
house,  and  from  that  reason  called  the  "lower  orchard"  by 
Isom,  who  had  planted  it  with  his  own  hand  more  than 
thirty  years  ago. 

There  noble  wine-sap  stretched  out  mighty  arms  to  fondle 
willow-twig  across  the  shady  aisles,  and  maidenblush  rubbed 
cheeks  with  Spitzenberg,  all  reddening  in  the  sun.  Under 
many  of  the  trees  the  ground  was  as  bare  as  if  fire  had 
devastated  it,  for  the  sun  never  fell  through  those  close- 
woven  branches  from  May  to  October,  and  there  no  clover 
grew.  But  in  the  open  spaces  between  the  rows  it  sprang 
rank  and  tall,  troublesome  to  cut  with  a  mower  because  of 
the  low-swinging,  fruit-weighted  limbs. 

Joe  waded  into  this  paradise  of  fruit  and  clover  bloom, 
dark  leaf  and  straining  bough,  stooping  now  and  then  to 
pick  up  a  fallen  apple  and  try  its  mellowness  with  his  thumb. 
They  were  all  hard,  and  fit  only  for  cider  }ret,  but  their  rich 
colors  beguiled  the  e}re  into  betrayal  of  the  palate.  Joe  fixed 
his  choice  upon  a  golden  willow-twig.  As  he  stood  rubbing 
the  apple  on  his  sleeve,  his  eye  running  over  the  task  ahead 
of  him  in  a  rough  estimate  of  the  time  it  would  require  to 
clean  up  the  clover,  he  started  at  sight  of  a  white  object 
dangling  from  a  bough  a  few  rods  ahead  of  him.  His 
attention  curiously  held,  he  went  forward  to  investigate, 
when  a  little  start  of  wind  swung  the  object  out  from  the 
limb  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a  woman's  sun-bonnet,  hanging 
basket-wise  by  its  broad  strings.  There  was  no  question 
whose  it  was ;  he  had  seen  the  same  bonnet  hanging  in  the 
kitchen  not  three  hours  before,  fresh  from  the  ironing  board. 

Joe  dropped  his  apple  unbittcn,  and  strode  forward, 
puzzled  a  bit  over  the  circumstance.  He  wondered  what 

7 


92  The  Komlboy 


had  brought  Ollie  down  there.',  and  where  she  was  then.  She 
never  came  to  that  part  of  the  orchard  to  gather  wind-falls 
for  the  pigs- — she  was  not  gathering  them  at.  all  during 
Isom's  absence,  lie  had  relieved  her  of  that  —  and  there  was 
nothing  else  to  call  her  away  from  the  house  at  that  time  of 
the  dav. 

The  lush  clover  struck  him  mid-thigh,  progress  through 
it  was  difficult.  Joe  lifted  his  feet  like  an  Indian,  toes  turned 
in  a  bit,  and  this  method  of  walking  made  it  appear  as  if  lie 
stalked  something,  for  he  moved  without  noise. 

lie  had  dropped  his  scythe  with  the  apple,  his  eves  held 
Olhe's  swinging  bonnet  as  he  approached  it  as  if  it  were 
some  rare  bird  which  he  hoped  to  steal  upon  and  take.  Thus 
coming  on,  with  high-lifted  feet,  his  breath  short  from 
excitement,  Joe  was  within  ten  yards  of  the  bonnet  win  11 
a  voice  sounded  behind  the  intervening  screen  of  clover 
and  boughs. 

Joe  dropped  in  his  tracks,  as  if  ham-strung,  crouched  in 
the  clover,  pressed  his  hands  to  his  mouth  to  stifle  the  gro;m 
that  rose  to  his  lips.  It  was  Morgan's  voice.  lie  had  conic 
sneaking  back  while  the  watch-dog  was  oil'  guard,  secure  111 
the  belief  that  he  had  gone  away.  As  Joe  crouched  there 
hidden  in  the  clover,  trembling  and  cold  with  anger,  Mor 
gan's  voice  rose  in  a  laugh. 

''Well,  I  wouldn't  have  given  him  credit  for  that  much 
sense  if  I  hadn't  seen  him  with  mv  own  eyes,*'  said  he. 

"lie's  smarter  than  he  looks,"  said  Ollie,  their  voict  s 
distinct  in  Joe's  shamed  ears,  for  it  was  as  quiet  in  the 
orchard  as  on  the  first  day. 

They  both  laughed  over  what  she  said. 

"lie  thinks  I'm  gone,  he'll  go  to  bed  early  tonight,"  said 
Morgan.  "Don't  bother  about  bringing  anything  with  you." 

"Not  even  mv  diamonds?"  she  laughed. 

Morgan's  gruffer  mirth  joined  her,  and  Joe  found  himself 


Tlie  Secret  of  the  Clover 93 

straining  to  hear,  although  he  despised  himself  for  spying  and 
eavesdropping,  even  on  guilt. 

"We  can  get  on  without  the  diamonds,"  said  Morgan, 
"  and  I  don't  suppose  you've  got  any  ball  dresses  or  sealskin 
cloaks  ?  " 

"  Three  calico  wrappers  that  he's  bought  me,  and  a  dress 
or  two  that  I  had  when  I  came,"  said  Ollie,  bitterly. 

"  You'll  have  all  you  want  in  a  day  or  two,  honey,"  said 
Morgan,  in  comforting  voice. 

They  were  silent  a  while ;  then  Joe  heard  her  ask  the  time. 
Morgan  told  her  it  was  half-past  four. 

"Oh,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  that  late  —  time  goes  so  fast 
when  I'm  with  you  !  I  must  go  back  to  the  house  now,  Joe 
might  come  in  and  find  me  gone." 

"  Yes,  I'd  like  to  wring  his  damned  neck  !  "  said  Morgan. 

"  He's  a  good  boy,  Curtis,"  she  defended,  but  with  lightness, 
"but  he's  a  little-  — " 

She  held  her  words  back  coquettishly. 

"  Heh  ?  "  queried  Morgan. 

"  Jealous,  you  old  goose  !     Can't  you  see  it  ?  " 

Morgan  had  a  great  laugh  over  that.  From  the  sound 
of  his  voice  Joe  knew  that  he  was  standing,  and  his  whole 
body  ached  with  the  fear  that  they  would  discover  him  lying 
there  in  the  clover.  Not  that  he  was  afraid  of  Morgan,  but 
that  he  dreaded  the  humiliation  which  Ollie  must  suffer  in 
knowing  that  her  guilt}7  tryst  had  been  discovered. 

"  I'll  meet  you  at  the  gate,  I'll  have  the  buggy  on  down 
the  road  a  little  ways,"  Morgan  told  her.  "  There's  only 
a  little  while  between  you  and  liberty  now,  sweetheart." 

Joe  dared  not  look  up  nor  move,  but  he  needed  no  eyes' 
to  know  that  Morgan  kissed  her  then.  After  that  he  heard 
her  running  away  toward  the  house.  Morgan  stood  there  a 
little  while,  whistling  softly.  Soon  Joe  heard  him  going  in 
the  direction  of  the  road. 


94-  The  Bondboy 


Morgan  was  quite  a  distance  ahead  when  Joe  sprang  out  of 
his  concealment  and  followed  him,  for  he  wanted  to  give  Ollie 
time  to  pass  beyond  ear-shot  of  the  orchard.  As  Joe  made 
no  attempt  to  smother  the  sound  of  his  feet,  Morgan  heard 
him  while  he  was  still  several  yards  behind  him.  lie  turned, 
stopped,  and  waited  for  Joe  to  come  up. 

Joe's  agitation  was  plain  in  his  face,  his  shocked  eves 
stared  out  of  its  pallor  as  if  they  had  looked  upon  violence 
and  death. 

''What's  the  matter,  kid  ?"  inquired  Morgan  carelessly. 

"  I've  got  something  to  say  to  you,"  answered  Joe  thickly. 
lie  was  panting,  more  from  rage  than  exertion;  his  hands 
trembled. 

Morgan  looked  him  over  from  boots  to  bandlcss  hat  with 
the  same  evidence  of  curiosity  as  a  person  displays  when 
turning  some  washed-up  object  with  the  foot  on  the  sands. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  but  an  abstract  interest  in  the  youth,  a 
feeling  which  the  incident  had  obtruded  upon  him  without 
penetrating  the  reserve  of  his  private  cogitations. 

"  Kid,  you  look  like  you'd  seen  a  snake,"  said  he. 

"You  let  that  woman  alone  —  you've  got  to  let  her  alone, 
I  tell  you  !  "  said  Joe  with  explosive  suddenness,  his  passion 
out  of  hand. 

Morgan's  face  grew  red. 

"Mind  your  own  business,  you  sneakin'  skunk!"  said  he. 

"I  am  minding  it,"  said  Joe;  "but  maybe  not  as  well  as  I 
ought  to  'a'  done.  Isom  left  me  here  in  his  place  to  watch  and 
look  after  things,  but  you've  sneaked  in  under  my  arm  like 
a  dirty,  thieving  dog,  and  you've  —  you've  — 

Morgan  thrust  his  fist  before  Joe's  face. 

"That'll  do  now  —  that'll  do  out  of  you!"  he  threatened. 

Joe  caught  Morgan's  wrist  with  a  quick,  snapping  move 
ment,  and  slowly  bent  the  threatening  arm  down,  Morgan 
struggling,  foot  to  foot  with  him  in  the  test  of  strength.  Joe 


95 


held  the  captured  arm  down  for  a  moment,  and  they  stood 
breast  to  breast,  glaring  into  each  other's  eyes.  Then  with 
a  wrench  that  spun  Morgan  half  round  and  made  him  stagger, 
Joe  flung  his  arm  free. 

"Now,  you  keep  away  from  here  —  keep  away!"  he 
warned,  his  voice  growing  thin  and  boyish  in  the  height  of 
his  emotion,  as  if  it  would  break  in  the  treble  shallows. 

"  Don't  fool  with  me  or  I'll  hurt  you,"  said  Morgan. 
"  Keep  your  nose " 

"  Let  her  alone  ! "  commanded  Joe  sternly,  his  voice  sinking 
again  even  below  its  accustomed  level,  gruff  and  deep  in  his 
chest.  "  I  heard  you  —  I  didn't  mean  to,  but  I  couldn't  help 
it  —  and  I  know  what  you're  up  to  tonight.  Don't  come 
around  here  tonight  after  her,  for  I'm  not  going  to  let 
her  go." 

"  Ya-a,  you  pup,  you  pup  ! "  said  Morgan  nastily. 

"It's  a  hard  life  for  her  here  —  I  know  that  better  than 
you  do,"  said  Joe,  passing  over  the  insult,  "  but  you  can't 
give  her  any  better  —  not  as  good.  What  you've  done  can't  be 
undone  now,  but  I  can  keep  you  from  dragging  her  down  any 
further.  Don't  you  come  back  here  tonight  ! " 

"  If  you  keep  your  fingers  out  of  the  fire,"  said  Morgan, 
looking  at  the  ground,  rolling  a  fallen  apple  with  his  toe, 
"  you'll  not  get  scorched.  You  stick  to  your  knittin'  and 
don't  meddle  with  mine.  That'll  be  about  the  healthiest  thing 
you  can  do  ! " 

"  If  Isom  knew  what  you've  done  he'd  kill  you  —  if  he's 
even  half  a  man,"  said  Joe.  "  She  was  a  good  woman  till 
you  came,  you  hound  ! " 

"  She's  a  good  woman  yet,"  said  Morgan,  with  some  feeling, 
"  too  good  for  that  old  hell-dog  she's  married  to !  " 

''  Then  let  her  stay  good  —  at  least  as  good  as  she  is," 
advised  Joe. 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  said  Morgan  disgustedly. 


96  The  Bondboi/ 


"Yon  can't  have  her,"  persisted  Joe. 

"We'll  see  about  that,  too,"  said  Morgan,  his  manner  and 
voice  threatening.  "What're  you  goin'  to  do  —  pole  oil  and 
tell  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  I'll  do  what  Isoin  left  me  here  to  do,  the  rest  of  the  time 
he's  away,"  said  Joe.  "  Ollie  shan't  leave  the  house  tonight." 

"  Yes,  vou  flat-bellied  shad,  you  want  her  yourself —  you're 
stuck  on  her  yourself,  you  fool!  Yes,  and  you've  got  .just 
about  as  much  show  of  gittin'  her  as  I  have  of  jumpin'  over 
that  tree!"  derided  Morgan. 

''No  matter  what  I  think  of  her,  good  or  bad,  she'd  he  safe 
with  me,"  Joe  told  him,  searching  his  face  accusingly. 

"Yes,  of  course  she  would!"  scoffed  Morgan.  "You're 
one  of  these  saints  that'll  live  all  your  life  by  a  punkin  and 
never  poke  it  with  your  finger.  Oh,  yes,  I  know  your  kind!" 

"  I'm  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you,  Morgan,  unless  you 
make  me,"  said  Joe;  "but  you've  got  the  wrong  end  of  the 
stick.  I  don't  want  her,  not  the  way  you  do,  anyhow." 

Morgan  looked  at  him  closely,  then  put  out  his  hand  with  a 
gesture  of  conciliation. 

"  I'll  take  that  back,  Joe,"  said  he.  "  You're  not  that  kind 
of  a  kid.  You  mean  well,  but  you  don't  understand.  Look-a 
here,  let  me  tell  vou,  Joe:  I  love  that  little  woman,  kid,  just 
as  honest  and  true  as  any  man  could  love  her,  and  she  thinks 
the  world  and  all  of  me.  I  only  want  to  take  her  away  from 
here  because  I  love  her  and  want  to  make  her  happy.  Don't 
you  see  it,  kid?  " 

"How  would  you  do  that?     You  couldn't  marry  her." 

"  No!  for  a  while,  of  course,"  admitted  Morgan.  "But  the 
old  possum  he'd  get  a  divorce  in  a  little  while." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going  to  let  her  go,"  Joe  declared,  turning 
away  as  if  that  settled  the  matter  for  good  and  all.  "You've 
done  —  I  could  kill  you  for  what  you've  done!"  said  he,  with 
sudden  vehemence. 


The  Secret  of  the  Clover 97 

Morgan  looked  at  him  curiously,  his  careless  face  softening. 

"  Now,  see  here,  don't  you  look  at  it  that  way,  Joe,"  he 
argued.  "  I'm  not  so  bad  ;  neither  is  Ollie.  You'll  understand 
these  matters  better  when  you're  older  and  know  more  about  the 
way  men  feel.  She  wanted  love,  and  I  gave  her  love.  She's 
been  worked  to  rags  and  bones  by  that  old  devil ;  and  what 
I've  done,  and  what  I  want  to  do,  is  in  kindness,  Joe.  I'll 
take  her  away  from  here  and  provide  for  her  like  she  was 
a  queen,  I'll  give  her  the  love  and  comradeship  of  a  young 
man  and  make  her  happy,  Joe.  Don't  }'ou  see?" 

"  But  you  can't  make  her  respectable,"  said  Joe.  "  I'm 
not  going  to  let  her  leave  with  you,  or  go  to  you.  If  she  wants 
to  go  after  Isom  comes  back,  then  let  her.  But  not  before. 
Now,  3rou'd  better  go  on  away,  Morgan,  before  I  lose  my 
temper.  I  was  mad  when  I  started  after  you,  but  I've  cooled 
down.  Don't  roil  me  up  again.  Go  on  your  way,  and  leave 
that  woman  alone." 

"  Joe,  you're  a  man  in  everything  but  sense,"  said  Morgan, 
not  unkindly,  "  and  I  reckon  if  you  and  I  was  to  clinch  we'd 
raise  a  purty  big  dust  and  muss  things  around  a  right  smart. 
And  I  don't  know  who'd  come  out  on  top  at  the  finish,  neither. 
So  I  don't  want  to  have  any  trouble  with  you.  All  I  ask 
of  you  is  step  to  one  side  and  leave  us  two  alone  in  what  we've 
started  to  do  and  got  all  planned  to  carry  out.  Go  to  bed 
tonight  and  go  to  sleep.  You're  not  supposed  to  know  that 
anything's  due  to  happen,  and  if  }TOU  sleep  sound  you'll  find 
a  twenty-dollar  bill  under  your  hat  in  the  morning." 

The  suggestion  brought  a  blush  to  Joe's  face.  He  set  his 
lips  as  if  fighting  down  hot  words  before  he  spoke. 

"  If  I  have  to  tie  her  I'll  do  it,"  said  Joe  earnestly.  "  She 
shan't  leave.  And  if  I  have  to  take  down  that  old  gun  from 
the  kitchen  wall  to  keep  you  away  from  here  till  Isom  comes 
home,  I'll  take  it  down.  You  can  come  to  the  gate  tonight 
if  you  want  to,  but  if  you  do  — 


08 The  Handbag 

Joe  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes.  Morgan's  face  lost 
its  color.  lie  turned  as  if  to  see  that  his  horse  was  still 
standing,  and  stood  that  way  a  little  while. 

'"I  guess  I'll  drive  on  otl',  Joe,"  said  Morgan  with  a  sigh, 
as  if  he  had  reached  the  conclusion  after  a  long  consideration. 

"All  right,"  said  Joe. 

"No  hard  feelin's  left  behind  me?"  facing  Joe  again  with 
his  old,  self-assured  smile.  He  offered  his  hand,  but  Joe  did 
not  take  it. 

"As  long  as  YOU  never  come  back,"  said  Joe. 

Morgan  walked  to  the  fence,  his  head  bent,  thoughtfully. 
Jot'  followed,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  that  the  wily  agent  was 
not  going  to  work  some  subterfuge,  having  small  faith  in  his 
promise  to  leave,  much  less  in  the  probability  that  he  would 
stay  awav. 

Joe  stood  at  the  fence,  looking  after  Morgan,  long  after 
the  dust  of  his  wheels  had  settled  again  to  the  road.  At  last 
he  went  back  to  the  place  where  he  had  dropped  his  scythe, 
and  cut  a  swath  straight  through  to  the  tree  where  Ollie's 
bonnet  had  hung.  And  there  he  mowed  the  trampled  clover, 
and  obliterated  Jier  footprints  with  his  own. 

The  weight  of  his  discovery  was  like  some  dead  thing  on 
his  breast.  lie  felt  that  Ollie  had  fallen  from  the  high  heaven 
of  his  regard,  never  to  mount  to  her  place  again.  But  Isom 
did  not  know  of  this  bitter  thing,  this  shameful  shadow  af 
his  door.  As  far  as  it  rested  with  him  to  hold  the  secret  in 
his  heart,  poison  though  it  was  to  him,  Isom  should  never 
know. 


CHAPTER  VI 


BLOOD 


JOE  had  debated  the  matter  fully  in  his  mind  before  going 
in  to  supper.  Since  he  had  sent  her  tempter  away, 
there  was  no  necessity  of  taking  Ollie  to  task,  thus  laying 
bare  his  knowledge  of  her  guilty  secret.  He  believed  that 
her  conscience  would  prove  its  own  flagellant  in  the  days 
to  come,  when  she  had  time  to  reflect  and  repent,  away  from 
the  debauching  influence  of  the  man  who  had  led  her  astray. 
His  blame  was  all  for  Morgan,  who  had  taken  advantage  of 
her  loneliness  and  discontent. 

Joe  now  recalled,  and  understood,  her  reaching  out  to  him 
for  sympathy ;  he  saw  clearly  that  she  had  demanded  some 
thing  beyond  the  capacity  of  his  unseasoned  heart  to  give. 
Isom  was  to  blame  for  that  condition  of  her  mind,  first  and 
most  severely  of  all.  If  Isom  had  been  kind  to  her,  and  given 
her  only  a  small  measure  of  human  sympathy,  she  would  have 
clung  to  him,  and  rested  in  the  shelter  of  his  protection, 
content  against  all  the  world.  Isom  had  spread  the  thorns 
for  his  own  feet,  in  his  insensibility  to  all  human  need  of 
gentleness. 

Joe  even  doubted,  knowing  him  as  he  did,  whether  the  gray 
old  miser  was  capable  of  either  jealousy  or  shame.  He  did 
not  know,  indeed,  what  Isom  might  say  to  it  if  his  wife's 
infidelity  became  known  to  him,  but  he  believed  that  he  would 
rage  to  insanity.  Perhaps  not  because  the  sting  of  it  would 
penetrate  to  his  heart,  but  in  his  censure  of  his  wife's  extrava 
gance  in  giving  away  an  affection  which  belonged,  under  the 
form  of  marriage  and  law,  to  him. 

Joe  was  ashamed  to  meet  Ollie  at  the  table,  not  for 

99 


100  The  Itondbo?/ 

liiinsclf,  l)ul  for  her.  lie  was  afraid  that  his  eves,  or  his 
manner,  might  betray  what  he  knew.  lie  might  have  spared 
himsrlf  this  feeling  of  humiliation  on  her  account,  for  Ollie, 
all  unconscious  of  his  discovery,  was  bright  and  full  of 
smiles.  Joe  could  not  rise-  to  her  level  of  light-hcartcdncss, 
and,  there  being  no  common  ground  between  them,  he  lapsed 
into  his  old-time  silence  over  his  plate. 

After  supper  Joe  flattened  himself  against  the  kitchen  wall 
where  he  had  sat  the  night,  before  on  the  bench  outside  the 
door,  drawing  back  into  the  shadow.  There  he  sat  and 
thought  it  over  again,  unsatisfied  to  remain  silent,  yet  afraid 
to  speak.  lie  did  not  want  to  be  unjust,  for  perhaps  she 
did  not  intend  to  meet  Morgan  at  all.  In  addition  to  this 
doubt  of  her  intentions,  he  had  the  hope  that  Isom  would 
come  verv  soon.  lie  decided  at  length  that  he  would  go 
to  bed  and  lie  awake  until  he  heard  Ollie  pass  up  to  her  room, 
when  he  would  slip  down  again  and  wait.  If  she  came  down, 
he  would  know  that  she  intended  to  carry  out  her  part  of 
the  compact  with  Morgan.  Then  he  could  tell  her  that 
Morgan  would  not  come. 

Ollie  was  not  long  over  her  work  that  night.  When  Joe 
heard  her  door  close,  he  took  his  boots  in  his  hand  and  went 
downstairs.  lie  had  left  his  hat  on  the  kitchen  table,  accord 
ing  to  his  nightlv  custom;  the  moonlight  coming  in  through 
the  window  reminded  him  of  it  as  he  passed.  lie  put  it  on. 
thinking  that  he  would  take  a  look  around  the  road  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  gate,  for  he  suspected  that  Morgan's  submis 
sive  going  masked  some  iniquitous  intent.  Joe  pulled  on  hi> 
boots,  sitting  in  the  kitchen  door,  listening  a  moment  before 
he  closed  it  after  him,  and  walked  softly  toward  the  road. 

A  careful  survey  as  far  as  he  could  see  in  the  bright  moon 
light,  satisfied  him  that  Morgan  had  not  left  his  horse  and 
buggy  around  there  anywhere.  lie  might  come  later.  Joe 
decided  to  wait  around  there  and  sec. 


Blood 101 

It  was  a  cool  autumn  night ;  a  prowling  wind  moved  silently. 
Over  hedgerow  and  barn  roof  the  moonlight  lay  in  white 
radiance ;  the  dusty  highway  beyond  the  gate  was  changed 
by  it  into  a  royal  road.  Joe  felt  that  there  were  memories 
abroad  as  he  rested  his  arms  on  the  gate-post.  Moonlight 
and  a  soft  wind  always  moved  him  with  a  feeling  of  indefinite 
and  shapeless  tenderness,  as  elusive  as  the  echo  of  a  song. 
There  was  a  soothing  quality  in  the  night  for  him,  which 
laved  his  bruised  sensibilities  like  balm.  lie  expanded  under 
its  influence;  the  tumult  of  his  breast  began  to  subside. 

The  revelations  of  that  day  had  fallen  rudely  upon  the 
youth's  delicately  tuned  and  finely  adjusted  nature.  He  had 
recoiled  in  horror  from  the  sacrilege  which  that  house  had 
suffered.  In  a  measure  he  felt  that  he  was  guilty  along  with 
Ollie  in  her  unspeakable  sin,  in  that  he  had  been  so  stupid  as 
to  permit  it. 

But,  he  reflected  as  he  waited  there  with  his  hand  upon  the 
weathered  gate,  great  and  terrible  as  the  upheaval  of  his  day- 
world  had  been,  the  night  had  descended  unconscious  of  it. 
The  moonlight  had  brightened  untroubled  by  it ;  the  wind  had 
come  from  its  wooded  places  unhurried  for  it,  and  unvexed. 
After  all,  it  had  been  only  an  unheard  discord  in  the  eternal, 
vast  harmony.  The  things  of  men  were  matters  of  infinitesi 
mal  consequence  in  nature.  The  passing  of  a  nation  of  men 
would  not  disturb  its  tranquillity  as  much  as  the  falling  of 
a  leaf. 

It  was  then  long  past  the  hour  when  he  was  habitually 
asleep,  and  his  vigil  weighed  on  him  heavily.  No  one  had 
passed  along  the  road ;  Morgan  had  not  come  in  sight.  Joe 
was  weary  from  his  day's  internal  conflict  and  external  toil. 
He  began  to  consider  the  advisability  of  returning  to  bed. 

Perhaps,  thought  he,  his  watch  was  both  futile  and  unjust. 
Ollie  did  not  intend  to  keep  her  part  in  the  agreement. 
She  must  be  burning  with  remorse  for  her  transgression. 


102  The  Bondboy 


He  turned  and  walked  slowly  toward  the  house,  stopping 
a  little  way  along  to  look  back  and  make  sure  that  Morgan 
had  not  appeared.  Thus  he  stood  a  little  while,  and  then 
resumed  his  way. 

The  house  was  before  him,  shadows  in  the  sharp  angles 
of  its  roof,  its  windows  catching  the  moonlight  like  wakeful 
eves.  There  was  a  calm  over  it,  and  a  somnolent  peace.  It 
seemed  impossible  that  iniquitous  desires  could  live  and  grow 
on  a  night  like  that.  Ollie  must  be  asleep,  said  he,  and 
repentant  in  her  dreams. 

Joe  felt  that  he  might  go  to  his  rest  with  honest v.  It 
would  be  welcome,  as  the  desire  of  tired  youth  for  its  bed 
is  strong.  At  the  well  he  stopped  again  to  look  back  for 
Morgan. 

As  he  turned  a  light  flashed  in  the  kitchen,  gleamed  a 
moment,  went  out  suddenly.  It  was  as  if  a  match  had  been 
struck  to  look  for  something  quickly  found,  and  then  blown 
out  with  a  puff  of  breath. 

At  once  the  fabric  of  his  hopes  collapsed,  and  his  honest 
attempts  to  lift  Ollie  back  to  her  smirched  pedestal  and  invest 
her  with  at  least  a  part  of  her  former  purity  of  heart,  came 
to  a  painful  end.  She  was  preparing  to  leave.  The  hour 
when  he  must  speak  had  come. 

He  approached  the  door  noiselessly.  It  was  closed,  as  he 
had  left  it,  and  within  everything  was  still.  As  he  stood 
hesitating  before  it,  his  hand  lifted  to  lay  upon  the  latch,  his 
heart  laboring  in  painful  lunges  against  his  ribs,  it  opened 
without  a  sound,  and  Ollie  stood  before  him  against  the 
background  of  dark. 

The  moonlight  came  down  on  him  through  the  half-bare 
arbor,  and  fell  in  mottled  patches  around  him  where  he  stood, 
his  hand  still  lifted,  as  if  to  help  her  on  her  way.  Ollie  caught 
her  breath  in  a  frightened  start,  and  shrank  back. 

"You  don't  need  to  be  afraid,  Ollie  —  it's  Joe,"  said  he. 


Blood 103 

"  Oh,  you  scared  me  so ! "  she  panted. 

Each  then  waited  as  if  for  the  other  to  speak,  and  the 
silence  seemed  long. 

"Were  you  going  out  somewhere?"  asked  Joe. 

"  No  ;  I  forgot  to  put  away  a  few  things,  and  I  came  down," 
said  she.  "  I  woke  up  out  of  my  sleep  thinking  of  them,"  she 
added. 

"  Well ! "  said  he,  wronderingly.  "  Can  I  help  you  anv> 
Ollie?" 

"  No  ;  it's  only  some  milk  and  things,"  she  told  him.  "  You 
know  how  Isom  takes  on  if  he  finds  anything  undone.  I  was 
afraid  he  might  come  in  tonight  and  see  them." 

"  Well ! "  said  Joe  again,  in  a  queer,  strained  way. 

He  was  standing  in  the  door,  blocking  it  with  his  body, 
clenching  the  jamb  with  his  hands  on  either  side,  as  if  to  bar 
any  attempt  that  she  might  make  to  pass. 

"Will  you  strike  a  light,  Ollie?  I  want  to  have  a  talk 
with  you,"  said  he  gravely. 

"Oh,  Joe!"  she  protested,  as  if  pleasantly  scandalized  by 
the  request,  intentionally  misreading  it. 

"Have  you  got  another  match  in  your  hand?  Light  the 
lamp." 

"Oh,  what's  the  use?"  said  she.  "I  only  ran  down  for  a 
minute.  We  don't  need  the  light,  do  we,  Joe?  Can't  you 
talk  without  it?" 

"  No ;  I  want  you  to  light  the  lamp,"  he  insisted. 

"  I'll  not  do  it ! "  she  flared  suddenly,  turning  as  if  to  go 
to  her  room.  "  You've  not  got  any  right  to  boss  me  around 
in  my  own  house ! " 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  have,  Ollie,  and  I  didn't  mean  to,"  said 
he,  stepping  into  the  room. 

Ollie  retreated  a  few  steps  toward  the  inner  door,  and 
stopped.  Joe  could  hear  her  excited  breathing  as  he  flung 
his  hat  on  the  table. 


104  The 


"  Ollic,  what  I've  got  to  say  to  you  lias  to  be  said  sooner 
or  later  tonight,  and  you'd  just  as  well  hear  it  now,"  said 
Joe,  trying  to  assure  her  of  his  friendly  intent  by  speaking 
softly,  although  his  voice  was  tremulous.  "Morgan's  gone; 
he'll  not  be  back-  —  at  least  not  tonight/' 

"Morgan?"  said  she.  ''What  do  you  mean  —  what  do  I 
care  where  he's  gone?" 

Joe  made  no  reply.  lie  fumbled  for  the  box  behind  the 
stove  and  scraped  a  slow  sulphur  match  against  the  pipe. 
Its  light  discovered  Ollie  shrinking  against  the  wall  where  she 
had  stopped,  near  the  door. 

She  was  wearing  a  straw  hat,  which  must  have  been  a  part 
of  her  bridal  gear.  A  long  white  veil,  which,  she  wore  scarf- 
wise  over  the  front  display  of  its  ilowers  and  fruits,  came 
down  and  crossed  behind  her  neck.  Its  ends  dangled  upon 
her  breast.  The  dress  was  one  that  Joe  never  had  seen  her 
wear  before,  a  girlish  white  thing  with  narrow  ruffles.  lie 
wondered  as  he  looked  at  her  with  a  great  ache  in  his  heart, 
how  so  much  seeming  puritv  could  be  so  base  and  foul.  In 
that  bitter  moment  he  cursed  old  Isom  in  his  heart  for  goad 
ing  her  to  this  desperate  bound.  She  had  been  starving  for 
a  man's  love,  and  for  the  lack  of  it  she  had  thrown  herself 
away  on  a  dog. 

Joe  fitted  the  chimney  on  the  burner  of  the  lamp,  and  stood 
in  judicial  seriousness  before  her,  the  stub  of  the  burning 
match  wasting  in  a  little  bla/.e  between  his  fingers. 

';  Morgan's  gone,"  he  repeated.  "  and  he'll  never  come  back. 
I  know  all  about  you  two,  and  what  you'd  planned  to  do." 

Joe  dropped  the  stub  of  the  match  and  set  his  loot   on  it. 

Ollie  stared  at  him,  her  face  as  white  as  her  bridal  dress, 
her  eves  big,  like  a  barn-yard  animal's  eyes  in  a  lanternV 
light.  She  was  gathering  and  wadding  the  ends  of  her  veil 
in  her  hands;  her  lips  were  open,  showing  the  points  of  her 
small,  white  teeth. 


Blood 105 

"  Isom  —  he'll  kill  me ! "  she  whispered. 

"  Isom  don't  know  about  it,"  said  Joe. 

"You'll  tell  him!" 

"No." 

Relief  flickered  in  her  face.  She  leaned  forward  a  little, 
eagerly,  as  if  to  speak,  but  said  nothing.  Joe  shrank  back 
from  her,  his  hand  pressing  heavily  upon  the  table. 

"  I  never  meant  to  tell  him,"  said  he  slowly. 

She  sprang  toward  him,  her  hands  clasped  appealingly. 

"  Then  you'll  let  me  go,  you'll  let  me  go?  "  she  cried  eagerly. 
"  I  can't  stay  here,"  she  hurried  on,  "  you  know  I  can't  stay 
here,  Joe,  and  suffer  like  he's  made  me  suffer  the  past  year ! 
You  say  Morgan  won't  come  — 

"  The  coward,  to  try  to  steal  a  man's  wife,  and  deceive 
you  that  way,  too ! "  said  Joe,  his  anger  rising. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do ! "  she  defended, 
shaking  her  head  solemnly.  "  He's  so  grand,  and  good,  and 
I  love  him,  Joe  —  oh,  Joe,  I  love  him !  " 

"  It's  wrong  for  you  to  say  that ! "  Joe  harshly  reproved 
her.  "  I  don't  want  to  hear  you  say  that ;  you're  Isom's  wife." 

"  Yes,  God  help  me,"  said  she. 

"  You  could  be  worse  off  than  you  are,  Ollie ;  as  it  is  you've 
got  a  name!  " 

"What's  a  name  when  you  despise  it?"  said  she  bitterly. 

"  Have  you  thought  what  people  would  say  about  you  if 
you  went  away  with  Morgan,  Ollie?"  inquired  Joe  gently. 

"  I  don't  care.  We  intend  to  go  to  some  place  where  we're 
not  known,  and  — 

"  Hide,"  said  Joe.  "  Hide  like  thieves.  And  that's  what 
you'd  be,  both  of  you,  don't  you  see?  You'd  never  be  com 
fortable  and  happy,  Ollie,  skulking  around  that  way." 

"  Yes,  I  would  be  happy,"  she  maintained  sharply.  "  Mr. 
Morgan  is  a  gentleman,  and  he's  good.  He'd  be  proud  of  me, 
he'd  take  care  of  me  like  a  lady." 


100  The  Hondboy 


"  For  a  little  while  maybe,  till  he  found  somebody  else  that 
he  thought  more  of,"  said  Joe.  "When  it  comes  so  easy  to 
take  one  man's  wife,  he  wouldn't  stop  at  going  off  with 
another." 

"It's  a  lie  —  you  know  it's  a  lie!  Curtis  Morgan's  a 
gentleman,  I  tell  you,  and  I'll  not  hear  you  run  him  down!'1 

"Gentlemen  and  ladies  don't  have  to  hide,"  said  Joe. 

"You're  lying  to  me!"  she  charged  him  suddenly,  her  face 
coloring  angrily,  "lie  wouldn't  go  away  from  here  on  the 
say-so  of  a  kid  like  you.  lie's  down  there  waiting  for  me, 
and  I'm  going  to  him." 

"  I  wouldn't  deceive  you,  Ollie,"  said  he,  leaving  his  post 
near  the  door,  opening  a  wav  for  her  to  pass.  "  If  you  think 
he's  there,  go  and  see.  But  I  tell  you  he's  gone.  He  asked 
me  to  shut  mv  eves  to  this  thing  and  let  vou  and  him  carry 
it  out;  but  I  couldn't  do  that,  so  he  went  away." 

She  knew  he  was  not  deceiving  her,  and  she  turned  on  him 
with  reproaches. 

"  You  want  to  chain  me  here  and  see  me  work  myself  to 
death  for  that  old  miserly  Isom!"  she  stormed.  "You're 
just  as  bad  as  he  is;  you  ain't  got  a  soft  spot  in  your  heart." 

"Yes,  I'd  rather  see  you  stay  here  with  Isom  and  do  a 
nigger  woman's  work,  like  you  have  been  doing  ever  since 
you  married  him.  than  let  you  go  away  with  Morgan  for  on<> 
mistaken  day.  What  you'd  have  to  face  with  him  would  kill 
you  quicker  than  work,  and  you'd  suffer  a  thousand  times 
more  sorrow." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  she  sneered.  "You  never 
loved  anybody;  That's  the  way  with  you  religious  fools  — 
you  don't  get  any  fun  out  of  life  yourselves,  and  you  want 
to  spoil  everybody  else's.  Well,  you'll  not  spoil  mine,  I  tell 
you.  I'll  go  to  Morgan  this  very  night,  and  you  can't  stop 
me ! " 

"Well,  we'll  see  about  that,  Ollie,"  he  told  her,  showing  a 


Blood 107 

little  temper.  "  I  told  him  that  I'd  keep  you  here  if  I  had 
to  tie  you,  and  I'll  do  that,  too,  if  I  have  to.  Isom  — 

"  Isom,  Isom ! "  she  mocked.  "  Well,  tell  Isom  }TOU  spied  on 
me  and  tell  the  old  fool  what  you  saw  —  tell  him,  tell  him! 
Tell  him  all  you  know,  and  tell  him  more !  Tell  the  old  devil 
I  hate  him,  and  always  did  hate  him ;  tell  him  I've  got  out  of 
bed  in  the  middle  of  the  night  more  than  once  to  get  the  ax 
and  kill  him  in  his  sleep  !  Tell  him  I  wish  he  was  dead  and 
in  hell,  where  he  belongs,  and  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  send  him 
there  !  What  do  I  care  about  Isom,  or  3'ou,  or  anybody 
else,  you  spy,  you  sneaking  spy  !" 

"  I'll  go  with  you  to  the  road  if  you  want  to  see  if  he's 
there,"  Joe  offered. 

Ollie's  fall  from  the  sanctified  place  of  irreproachable 
womanhood  had  divested  her  of  all  awe  in  his  eyes.  He  spoke 
to  her  now  as  he  would  have  reasoned  with  a  child. 

"'  No,  I  suppose  you  threatened  to  go  after  Isom,  or  some 
thing  like  that,  and  he  went  away,"  said  she.  "  You  couldn't 
scare  him,  he  wouldn't  run  from  you.  Tomorrow  he'll  send 
me  word,  and  I'll  go  to  him  in  spite  of  you  and  Isom  and 
everything  else.  I  don't  care  —  I  don't  care  —  you're  mean 
to  me,  too!  you're  as  mean  as  you  can  be!" 

She  made  a  quick  tempestuous  turn  from  anger  to  tears, 
lifting  her  arm  to  her  face  and  hiding  her  eyes  in  the  bend 
of  her  elbow.  Her  shoulders  heaved ;  she  sobbed  in  childlike 
pity  for  herself  and  the  injury  which  she  seemed  to  think 
she  bore. 

Joe  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Don't  take  on  that  way  about  it,  Ollie,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  she  moaned,  her  hands  pressed  to  her  face  now  ; 
"  why  couldn't  you  have  been  kind  to  me ;  why  couldn't  you 
have  said  a  good  word  to  me  sometimes  ?  I  didn't  have  a 
friend  in  the  world,  and  I  was  so  lonesome  and  tired  and  — 
and  — -  and  —  everything  !  " 


108 Tlic  Itondboi/ 

Her  reproachful  appeal  was  disconcerting  to  Joe.  How 
could  he  tell  her  that  he  had  not  understood  her  striving  and 
yearning  to  reach  him,  and  that  at  last  understanding,  he 
had  been  appalled  by  the  enormity  of  his  own  heart's  desire. 
He  said  nothing  for  a  little  while,  but  took  her  by  one  tear- 
wet  hand  and  led  her  away  from  the  door.  Near  the  table 
he  stopped,  still  holding  her  hand,  stroking  it  tenderly  with 
comforting  touch. 

''Never  mind,  Ollie,"  said  lie  at  last;  "you  go  to  bed  now 
and  don't  Ihink  any  more  about  going  away  with  Morgan. 
If  I  thought  it  was  best  for  your  peace  and  happiness  for 
you  to  go,  I'd  step  out  of  the  way  at  once.  But  he'd  drag 
you  down,  Ollie,  lower  than  any  woman  you  ever  saw,  for 
they  don't  have  that  kind  of  women  here.  Morgan  isn't  as 
good  a  man  as  Isom  is,  with  all  his  hard  ways  and  stinginess. 
If  he's  honest  and  honorable,  he  can  wait  for  you  till  Isom 
dies.  He'll  not  last  more  than  ten  or  fifteen  years  longer, 
and  you'll  be  young  even  then,  Ollie.  I  don't  suppose  any 
body  ever  gets  too  old  to  be  happy  any  more  than  they 
get  too  old  to  be  sad." 

"  \o,  I  don't  suppose  they  do,  Joe,"  she  sighed. 

She  had  calmed  down  while  he  talked.  Now  she  wiped  her 
eyes  on  her  veil,  while  the  last  convulsions  of  sobbing  shook 
her  now  and  then,  like  the  withdrawing  rumble  of  thunder 
after  a  storm. 

"I'll  put  out  the  light,  Ollie,"  said  he.  "You  go  on  to 
bed." 

"Oh,  Joe,  Joe!"  said  she  in  a  little  pleading,  meaningless 
way;  a  little  way  of  reproach  and  softness. 

She  lifted  her  tear-bright  eyes,  with  the  reflection  of  her 
subsiding  passion  in  them,  and  looked  yearningly  into  his. 
Ollie  suddenly  found  herself  feeling  small  and  young,  penitent 
and  frail,  in  the  presence  of  this  quickly  developed  man.  His 
strength  seemed  to  rise  above  her,  and  spread  round  her, 


Blood 109 

and  warm  her  in  its  protecting  folds.  There  was  comfort  in 
him,  and  promise. 

The  wife  of  the  dead  viking  could  turn  to  the  living  victor 
with  a  smile.  It  is  a  comforting  faculty  that  has  come  down 
from  the  first  mother  to  the  last  daughter ;  it  is  as  ineradica 
ble  in  the  sex  as  the  instinct  which  cherishes  fire.  Ollie  was 
primitive  in  her  passions  and  pains.  If  she  could  not  have 
Morgan,  perhaps  she  could  yet  find  a  comforter  in  Joe.  She 
put  her  free  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  up  into  his  face 
again.  Tears  were  on  her  lashes,  her  lips  were  loose  and 
trembling. 

"  If  you'd  be  good  to  me,  Joe ;  if  you'd  only  be  good  and 
kind,  I  could  stay,"  she  said. 

Joe  was  moved  to  tenderness  by  her  ingenuous  sounding 
plea.  He  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder  in  a  comforting  way. 
She  was  very  near  him  then,  and  her  small  hand,  so  lately 
cold  and  tear-damp,  was  warm  within  his.  She  threw  her 
head  back  in  expectant  attitude ;  her  yearning  eyes  seemed 
to  be  dragging  him  to  her  lips. 

"I  will  be  good  to  you,  Ollie;  just  as  good  and  kind  as  I 
know  how  to  be,"  he  promised. 

She  swayed  a  little  nearer ;  her  warm,  soft  body  pressed 
against  him,  her  bright  young  eyes  still  striving  to  draw  him 
down  to  her  lips. 

''  Oh,  Joe,  Joe,"  she  murmured  in  a  snuggling,  contented 
way. 

Sweat  sprang  upon  his  forehead  and  his  throbbing  temples, 
so  calm  and  cool  but  a  moment  before.  He  stood  trembling, 
his  damp  elf-locks  dangling  over  his  brow.  Through  the 
half-open  door  a  little  breath  of  wind  threaded  in  and  made 
the  lamp-blaze  jump;  it  rustled  outside  through  the  lilac- 
bushes  like  the  passing  of  a  lady's  gown. 

Joe's  voice  was  husky  in  his  throat  when  he  spoke. 

"  You'd  better  go  to  bed,  Ollie,"  said  he. 


110 The  Bondboy 

lie  still  clung  foolishly  to  her  willing  hand  as  he  led  her 
to  the  door  opening  to  the  stairs. 

"  Xo,  vou  go  on  up  first,  Joe,"'  she  said.  "I  want  to  put 
the  wood  in  the  stove  ready  to  light  in  the  morning,  and  set 
a  few  little  things  out.  It'll  give  me  r.  minute  longer  to  sleep. 
You  can  trust  me  now,  Joe,"  she  protested,  looking  earnestly 
into  his  eyes,  "  for  I'm  not  going  away  with  Morgan  now." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Ollie,"  he  told  her, 
unfeigned  pleasure  in  his  voice. 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  you'll  never  tell  Isom,"  said 
she. 

''I  never  intended  to  tell  him,"  he  replied. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  quickly,  and  quickly  both 
of  them  fled  to  his  shoulders. 

"  Stoop  down,''  she  coaxed  vith  a  seductive,  tender  pressure? 
of  her  hands,  "  and  tell  me,  Joe." 

Isom's  step  fell  on  the  porch.  lie  crashed  the  door  back 
against  the  wall  as  he  came  in,  and  Joe  and  Ollie  fell  apart 
in  guilty  haste.  Isom  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold, 
ama/ement  in  his  staring  eyes  and  open  mouth.  Then  a 
cloud  of  rage  swept  him,  he  lifted  his  huge,  hairy  fist  above 
his  head  like  a  club. 

"I'll  kill  you!"  he  threatened,  covering  the  space  between 
him  and  Joe  in  two  long  strides. 

Ollie  shrank  away,  half  stooping,  from  the  expected  blow, 
her  hands  raised  in  appealing  defense.  Joe  put  up  his  opi-n 
hand  as  if  to  check  Isom  in  his  assault. 

"  Hold  on,  Isom;  don't  you  hit  me,"  he  said. 

Whatever  Isom's  intention  had  been,  he  contained  himself. 
He  stopped,  facing  Joe,  who  did  not  yield  an  inch. 

''Hit  you,  you  whelp!"  said  Isom,  his  lips  flattened  back 
from  his  teeth.  "I'll  do  more  than  hit  you.  You—  lie 
turned  on  Ollie:  "I  saw  vou.  You've  disgraced  me!  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  your  body!  I'll  throw  you  to  the  hogs  !  " 


_  Blood  _  111 

"If  you'll  hold  on  a  minute  and  listen  to  reason,  Isom,' 
you'll  find  there's  nothing  at  all  like  you  think  there  is,"  said 
Joe.  "  You're  making  a  mistake  that  you  may  be  sorry  for." 

"  Mistake  !  "  repeated  Isom  bitterly,  as  if  his  quick-rising 
rage  had  sunk  again  and  left  him  suddenly  weak.  "  Yes,  the 
mistake  I  made  was  when  I  took  you  in  to  save  you  from  the 
poorhouse  and  give  you  a  home.  I  go  away  for  a  day  and 
come  back  to  find  you  tv,-o  clamped  in  each  other's  arms 
so  close  together  I  couldn't  shove  a  hand  between  you.  Mis- 


"  That's  not  so,  Isom,"  Joe  protested  indignantly. 

"  Heaven  and  hell,  didn't  I  see  you  !  "  roared  Isom. 
"  There's  law  for  you  two  if  I  want  to  take  it  on  you,  but 
what's  the  punishment  of  the  law  for  what  you've  done  on 
me?  Law  !  No,  by  God  !  I'll  make  my  own  law  for  this  case. 
I'll  kill  both  of  you  if  I'm  spared  to  draw  breath  five  minutes 
more!" 

Isom  lifted  his  long  arm  in  witness  of  his  terrible  intention, 
and  cast  his  glaring  eyes  about  the  room  as  if  in  search  of 
a  weapon  to  begin  his  work. 

"  I  tell  you,  Isom,  nothing  wrong  ever  passed  between 
me  and  your  wife,"  insisted  Joe  earnestly.  "  You're  making 
a  terrible  mistake." 

Ollie,  shrinking  against  the  wall,  looked  imploringly  at  Joe. 
He  had  promised  never  to  tell  Isom  what  he  knew,  but  how 
was  he  to  save  himself  now  without  betraying  her?  Was  he 
man  enough  to  face  it  out  and  bear  the  strain,  rush  upon 
old  Isom  and  stop  him  in  his  mad  intention,  or  would  he 
weaken  and  tell  all  he  knew,  here  at  the  very  first  test  of  his 
strength?  She  could  not  read  his  intention  in  his  face,  but 
his  eyes  were  frowning  under  his  gathered  brows  as  he 
watched  every  move  that  old  Isom  made.  He  was  leaning 
forward  a  little,  his  arms  were  raised,  like  a  wrestler  waiting 
for  the  clinch. 


112  The  Bondboy 


Isom's  face  was  as  gray  as  ashes  that  have  lain  through 
many  a  rain.  lie  stood  where  he  had  stopped  at  Joe's  warn 
ing,  and  now  was  pulling  up  his  sleeves  as  if  to  begin  his 
bloody  work. 

"  You  two  conspired  against  me  from  the  first,"  he  charged, 
his  voice  trembling;  "you  conspired  to  eat  me  holler,  ami 
now  you  conspire  to  bring  shame  and  disgrace  to  my  grav 
hairs.  I  trust  you  and  depend  on  you,  and  I  come  home  — 

Isonfs  arraignment  broke  off  suddenly. 

lie  stood  with  arrested  jaw,  gazing  intently  at  the  table. 
Joe  followed  his  eyes,  but  saw  nothing  on  the  table  to  hold 
a  man's  words  and  passions  suspended  in  that  strange  man 
ner.  Nothing  was  there  but  the  lamp  and  Joe's  old  brown 
hat.  That  lay  there,  its  innocent,  battered  crown  presenting 
to  Joe's  eyes,  its  broad  and  pliant  brim  tilted  up  on  the 
farther  side  as  if  resting  on  a  fold  of  itself. 

It  came  to  Joe  in  an  instant  that  Isom's  anger  had  brought 
paralvsis  upon  him.  lie  started  forward  to  assist  him, 
Isom's  name  on  his  lips,  when  Isom  leaped  to  the  table  with 
a  smothered  cry  in  his  throat.  lie  seemed  to  hover  over 
the  table  a  moment,  leaning  with  his  breast  upon  it,  gather 
ing  sonic  object  to  him  and  hugging  it  under  his  arm. 

"Great  God!"  panted  Isom  in  shocked  voice,  standing 
straight  between  them,  his  left  arm  pressed  to  his  breast  as 
if  it  covered  a  mortal  wound.  lie  twisted  his  neck  and  glared 
at  Joe,  but  he  did  not  disclose  the  thing  that  he  had  gathered 
from  the  table. 

"Great  God!"  said  he  again,  in  the  same  shocked,  panting 
voice. 

"  Isom,"  began  Joe,  advancing  toward  him. 

Isom  retreated  quickly.  lie  ran  to  the  other  end  of  the 
table  where  he  stood,  bending  forward,  hugging  his  secret  to 
his  breast  as  if  lie  meant  to  defend  it  with  the  blood  of  his 
heart.  He  stretched  out  his  free  hand  to  keep  Joe  away. 


Blood 113 

"  Stand  off !     Stand  off !  "  he  warned. 

Again  Isom  swept  his  wild  glance  around  the  room.  Near 
the  door,  on  two  prongs  of  wood  nailed  to  the  wall,  hung  the 
gun  of  which  Joe  had  spoken  to  Morgan  in  his  warning.  It 
was  a  Kentucky  rifle,  long  barreled,  heavy,  of  two  generations 
past.  Isom  used  it  for  hawks,  and  it  hung  there  loaded  and 
capped  from  year's  beginning  to  year's  end.  Isom  seemed 
to  realize  when  he  saw  it,  for  the  first  time  in  that  season 
of  insane  rage,  that  it  offered  to  his  hand  a  weapon.  He 
leaped  toward  it,  reaching  up  his  hand. 

"  I'll  kill  you  now!  "  said  he. 

In  one  long  spring  Isom  crossed  from  where  he  stood  and 
seized  the  rifle  by  the  muzzle. 

"  Stop  him,  stop  him  !"  screamed  Ollie,  pressing  her  hands 
to  her  ears. 

"  Isom.  Isom !  "  warned  Joe,  leaping  after  him. 

Isom  was  wrenching  at  the  gun  to  free  the  breech  from  the 
fork  when  Joe  caught  him  by  the  shoulder  and  tried  to  drag 
him  back. 

"Look  out  —  the  hammer!"  he  cried. 

But  quicker  than  the  strength  of  Joe's  young  arm,  quicker 
than  old  Isom's  wrath,  was  the  fire  in  that  corroded  cap ; 
quicker  than  the  old  man's  hand,  the  powder  in  the  nipple  of 
the  ancient  gun. 

Isom  fell  at  the  report,  his  left  hand  still  clutching  the 
secret  thing  to  his  bosom,  his  right  clinging  to  the  rifle- 
barrel.  He  lay  on  his  back  where  he  had  crashed  down,  as 
straight  as  if  stretched  to  a  line.  His  staring  eyes  rolled, 
all  white ;  his  mouth  stood  open,  as  if  in  an  unuttered  cry. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DELIVERANCE 

JOK,  stunned  bv  the  sudden  tragedy,  stood  for  a  moment 
as  lie  had  stopped  when  he  laid  his  hand  on  Isom's  shoul 
der.      Ollie,  on  the  other  side  of  the  fallen  man,  leaned  over 
and  peered  into  his  face. 

In  that  moment  a  wild  turmoil  of  hopes  and  fears  leaped  in 
her  hot  brain.  Was  it  deliverance,  freedom?  Or  was  it  onlv 
another  complication  of  shame  and  disgrace?  Was  he  dead, 
slain  bv  his  own  hand  in  the  baseness  of  his  own  heart?  Or 
was  he  onlv  hurt,  to  rise  \ip  again  presently  with  revilings 
and  accusations,  to  make  the  future  more  terrible  than  the 
past.  Did  this  end  it  ;  did  this  come  in  answer  to  her  prayers 
for  a  bolt  to  fall  on  him  and  wither  him  in  his  tracks? 

Kven  in  that  turgid  moment,  when  she  turned  these  specula 
tions,  guilty  hopes,  wild  fears,  in  her  mind,  Isom's  eyelids 
quivered,  dropped;  and  the  sounding  breath  in  his  nostrils 
ceased. 

Isom  Chase  lay  dead  upon  the  floor.  In  the  crook  of  his 
elbow  rested  a  little  time-fingered  canvas  bag,  one  corner  of 
which  had  broken  open  in  his  fall,  out  of  which  poured  the 
golden  gleanings  of  his  hard  and  bitter  years. 

On  the  planks  beneath  his  shoulder-blades,  where  his  feet 
had  come  and  gone  for  fortv  years,  all  leached  and  whitened 
by  the  strong  lye  of  countless  scrubbing*  at  the  hands  of  the 
old  wife  and  the  new,  his  blood  ran  down  in  a  little  stream. 
It  gathered  in  a  cupped  and  hollowed  plank,  and  stood  there 
in  a  little  pool,  glistening,  black.  His  wife  saw  her  white 
face  reflected  in  it  as  she  raised  up  from  peering  into  his 
blank,  dead  eyes. 

11-1 


Deliverance  115 


"  Look  at  his  blood ! "  said  she,  hoarsely  whispering. 
"Look  at  it  —  look  at  it!" 

"  Isom  !  Isom !  "  called  Joe  softly,  a  long  pause  between1 
his  words,  as  if  summoning  a  sleeper.  He  stooped  over,  touch 
ing  Isoin's  shoulder. 

There  was  a  trickle  of  blood  on  Isom's  beard,  where  the 
rifle  ball  had  struck  him  in  the  throat ;  back  of  his  head  that 
vital  stream  was  wasting,  enlarging  the  pool  in  the  hollowed 
plank  near  Ollic's  foot. 

"  He's  dead  !  "  she  whispered. 

Again,  in  a  flash,  that  quick  feeling  of  lightness,  almost 
joyful  liberty,  lifted  her.  Isom  was  dead,  dead!  What  she 
had  prayed  for  had  fallen.  Cruel,  hard-palmed  Isom,  who 
had  gripped  her  tender  throat,  was  dead  there  on  the  floor 
at  her  feet !  Dead  by  his  own  act,  in  the  anger  of  his  loveless 
heart. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is,"  said  Joe,  dazed  and  aghast. 

The  night  wind  came  in  through  the  open  door  and  vexed 
tliG  lamp  with  harassing  breath.  Its  flame  darted  like  a 
serpent's  tongue,  and  Joe,  fearful  that  it  might  go  out  and 
leave  them  in  the  dark  with  that  bleeding  corpse,  crossed  over 
softly  and  closed  the  door. 

Ollie  stood  there,  her  hands  clenched  at  her  sides,  no  stir 
ring  of  pity  in  her  heart  for  her  husband  with  the  stain  of 
blood  upon  his  harsh,  gray  beard.  In  that  moment  she  was 
supremely  selfish.  The  possibility  of  accusation  or  suspicion 
in  connection  with  his  death  did  not  occur  to  her.  She  was 
too  shallow  to  look  ahead  to  that  unpleasant  contingency. 
The  bright  lure  of  liberty  was  in  her  eyes;  it  was  dancing  in 
her  brain.  As  she  looked  at  Joe's  back  the  moment  he  stood 
with  hand  on  the  door,  her  one  thought  was: 

"  Will  he  tell  ?  " 

Joe  came  back  and  stood  beside  the  lifeless  form  of  Isom, 
looking  down  at  him  for  a  moment,  pity  and  sorrow  in  his 


110 Tlic   Rondbot/ 

face.  Then  lie  tiptoed  far  around  the  body  and  took  up  his 
hat  from  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen  in  Isom's  scramble  for 
the  sack  of  gold. 

''What  are  \ve  going  to  do?"  asked  Ollie,  suddenly  afraid. 

"'I'll  go  afler  the  doctor,  but  he  can't  help  him  anv,"  said 
Joe.  "  I'll  wake  up  the  Greenings  as  I  go  by  and  send  some 
of  them  over  to  stay  with  you." 

"Don't  have  me  here  with  it  —  don't  leave  me!"  begged 
Ollie.  "I  can't  stay  here  in  the  house  with  it  alone!" 

She  shrank  away  from  her  husband's  body,  unlovely  in 
death  as  he  had  been  unloved  in  life,  and  clung  to  Joe's 
arm. 

But  a  little  while  had  passed  since  Isom  fell  —  perhaps  not 
yet  five  minutes  —  but  someone  had  heard  the  shot,  someone 
was  coming,  running,  along  the  hard  path  between  gate  and 
kitchen  door.  Ollie  started. 

'"Listen!"  she  said.  "They're  coming!  What  will  you 
say?" 

"Go  upstairs,"  he  commanded,  pushing  her  toward  the 
door,  harshness  in  his  manner  and  words.  ''It'll  not  do  for 
you  to  be  found  here  all  dressed  up  that  way." 

"What  will  you  tell  them  —  what  will  you  say?"  she  in 
sisted,  whispering. 

"(TO  upstairs;  let  me  do  the  talking,"  lie  answered,  waving 
her  away. 

A  heavy  foot  struck  the  porch,  a  heavy  hand  beat,  a  sum 
mons  on  the  door.  Ollie's  white  dress  gleamed  a  moment  in 
the  dark  passage  leading  to  the  stairs,  the  Hying  end  of  her 
veil  glimmered. 

"  Come  in."  called  Joe. 

Sol  Greening,  their  neighbor,  whose  gate  was  almost  oppo 
site  Isom's,  whose  barn  was  not  eighty  rods  from  the  kitchen 
door,  stood  panting  in  the  lamplight,  his  heavy  beard  lifting 
and  falling  on  his  chest. 


Deliverance  117 


"What  —  what's  happened  —  who  was  that  shootin' — 
Isom!  God  A'mighty,  is  he  hurt?" 

"  Dead,"  said  Joe  dully,  standing  hat  in  hand.  He  looked 
dazedly  at  the  excited  man  in  the  door,  whose  mouth  was 
open  as  he  stared  fearfully  at  the  corpse. 

"  How  ?  Who  done  it  ?  "  asked  Greening,  coming  in  on 
tiptoe,  his  voice  lowered  to  a  whisper,  in  the  cautious  fashion 
of  people  who  move  in  the  vicinity  of  the  sound-sleeping  dead. 
The  tread  of  living  man  never  more  would  disturb  old  Isom 
Chase,  but  Sol  Greening  moved  as  silently  as  a  blowing  leaf. 

"  Who  done  it  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  He  did,"  answered  Joe. 

"  He  done  it ! "  repeated  Greening,  looking  from  the  rifle, 
still  clutched  in  Isom's  hand,  to  the  gold  in  the  crook  of  his 
arm,  and  from  that  to  Joe's  blanched  face.  "  He  done  it ! " 

"Jerking  down  the  gun,"  explained  Joe,  pointing  to  the 
broken  rack. 

"  Jerkin'  down  the  gun !  What'd  he  want  —  look  —  look  at 
all  that  money!  The  sack's  busted  —  it's  spillin'  all  over 
him!" 

"  He's  dead,"  said  Joe  weakly,  "  and  I  was  going  after 
the  doctor." 

"  Stone  dead,"  said  Greening,  bending  over  the  body ;  "  they 
ain't  a  puff  of  breath  left  in  him.  The  doctor  couldn't  do 
him  no  good,  Joe,  but  I  reckon  — 

Greening  straightened  up  and  faced  Joe,  sternly. 

"Where's  Missis  Chase?"  he  asked. 

"  Upstairs,"  said  Joe,  pointing. 

"  Does  she  know?  Who  was  here  when  it  happened?  " 

"  Isom  and  I,"  said  Joe. 

"  God  A'mighty !  "  said  Greening,  looking  at  Joe  fearfully, 
"just  you  and  him?" 

"  We  were  alone,"  said  Joe,  meeting  Greening's  eyes  unf  al- 
teringly.  "We  had  some  words,  and  Isom  lost  his  temper. 


118  The  Bomlboy 


He  jumped  for  the  gun  and  I  tried  to  stop  him,  but  he  jerked 
it  by  the  barrel  and  the  hammer  caught." 

"Broke  his  neck,''  said  Greening,  mouth  and  eyes  wide 
open  ;  "  broke  it  clean  !  Where'd  that  money  come  from?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Joe;  "I  didn't  scc'it  till  he  fell." 

"Words!"  said  Greening,  catching  at  it  suddenly,  as  if 
what  Joe  had  said  had  only  then  penetrated  his  understand 
ing.  "You  and  him  had  some  words!" 

"  Yes,  we  had  some  words,"  said  Joe. 

"Where's  Missis  Chase?"  demanded  Greening  again,  turn 
ing  his  eyes  suspiciously  around  the  room. 

"Upstairs,  I  told  you  Sol,"  replied  Joe.  "She  went  to 
bed  early." 

"Hush!"  cautioned  Greening,  holding  up  his  hand,  listen 
ing  intently.  "I  hear  her  movin'  around.  Let  me  talk  t» 
her." 

lie  tiptoed  to  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and 
listened  again  ;  tiptoed  back  to  the  outer  portal,  which  lie  had 
left  swinging  behind  him,  and  closed  it  gently.  There  was 
no  sound  from  above  now  to  indicate  that  Ollie  was  awake. 
Sol  stood  near  Isom's  body,  straining  and  listening,  his  hand 
to  his  ear. 

"  She  must  'a'  been  turnin'  over  in  bed."  said  he.  "Well,  I 
guess  I'll  have  to  call  her.  I  hate  to  do  it,  but  she's  got  to 
be  told." 

"  Yes,  she  must  be  told,"  said  Joe. 

Sol  stood  as  if  reflecting  on  it  a  little  while.  Joe  was  on  the 
other  side  of  Isom's  body,  near  the  table.  Both  of  them 
looked  down  into  his  bloodless  face. 

"You  had  words!"  said  Greening,  looking  sternly  at  Joe. 
"What  about?" 

"It  was  a  matter  between  him  and  me.  Sol,  it  don't  con 
cern  anybody  else,"  said  Joe  in  a  manner  of  dignity  and 
reserve  that  was  blunter  than  his  words.  Sol  was  not  im- 


Deliverance  119 


pressed  by  this  implied  rebuke,  and  hint  to  mind  his  own 
business. 

"  That  ain't  no  answer,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  it  will  have  to  do  for  you,  Sol,"  said  Joe. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  declared  Sol.  "  If  you  can't 
give  me  the  straight  of  it,  in  plain  words,  I'll  have  to  take 
you  up." 

Joe  stood  thoughtfully  silent  a  little  while.  Then  he  raised 
his  head  and  looked  at  Sol  steadily. 

"If  there's  any  arresting  to  be  done — '  he  began,  but 
checked  himself  abruptly  there,  as  if  he  had  reconsidered 
what  he  started  to  say.  "  Hadn't  we  better  pick  Isom  up  off 
the  floor?"  he  suggested. 

"  No,  no  ;  don't  touch  him,"  Greening  interposed  hurriedly. 
"  Leave  him  lay  for  the  coroner ;  that's  the  law." 

"  All  right." 

"  I'll  have  to  tell  Missis  Chase  before  we  go,"  said  Sol. 

"  Yes,  you  must  tell  her,"  Joe  agreed. 

Sol  rapped  on  the  woodwork  of  the  wall  at  the  bottom  of 
the  stairs  with  his  big  knuckles.  The  sound  rose  sudden  and 
echoing  in  the  house.  Ollie  was  heard  opening  her  door. 

"Missis  Chase  —  oh,  Missis  Chase!"  called  Greening. 

"  Who's  that,  who's  that  ?  "  came  Ollie's  voice,  tremulous 
and  frightened,  little  above  a  whisper,  from  above. 

"  It's  Sol  Greening.  Don't  come  down  here,  don't  come 
down ! " 

"What  was  that  noise?  It  sounded  like  a  gun,"  said  Ollie, 
a  bit  nearer  the  head  of  the  stairs,  her  words  broken  and 
disjointed. 

"  Something's  happened,  something  mighty  bad,"  said  Sol. 
"You  stay  right  where  you  are  till  I  send  the  old  woman 
over  to  you  —  do  you  hear  me?  —  stay  right  there!" 

"Oh,  what  is  it,  what  is  it?"  moaned  Ollie.  "Joe  — 
where's  Joe?  Call  him,  Mr.  Greening,  call  Joe!" 


120 TJic  Bondboy 

"  He's  here,"  Sol  assured  licr,  his  voice  full  of  portent, 
"he's  goin'  away  with  me  for  a  little  while.  I  tell  you  it's 
terrible,  you  must  stay  right  up  there." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  afraid  —  I'm  so  afraid!"  said  Ollie,  coming 
nearer. 

"Go  back!     Go  back!"  commanded  Greening. 

"  If  you'll  only  stick  to  it  that  way,"  thought  Joe  as  Ollie's 
moans  sounded  in  his  ears. 

"Was  it  robbers  —  is  somebody  hurt?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  somebody's  hurt,  and  hurt  bad,"  said  Greening, 
"but  you  can't  do  no  good  by  comin'  down  here.  You  stay 
right  there  till  the  old  woman  comes  over;  it'll  only  be  a 
minute." 

"Let  me  go  with  you.  Oh,  Mr.  Greening,  don't  leave  me 
here  alone!  "  she  implored. 

"There's  nothing  to  hurt  you,  Ollie,"  said  Joe.  "You  do 
as  Sol  tells  you  and  stay  here.  Go  to  your  room  and  shut 
the  door,  and  wait  till  Mrs.  Greening  comes." 

Sol  leaned  into  the  staircase  and  listened  until  lie  heard  her 
door  close.  Then  he  turned  and  shut  the  kitchen  window  and 
the  door  leading  into  the  body  of  the  house,  leaving  the  burn 
ing  lamp  on  the  table  to  keep  watch  over  Isom  and  his  money. 

"We'll  go  out  the  front  way,"  said  Sol  to  Joe.  "Nothing 
must  be  touched  in  that  room  till  the  coroner  orders  it.  Now, 
don't  you  try  to  dodge  me,  Joe." 

"I've  got  no  reason  to  want  to  dodge  any  man,"  said  Joe. 

"Well,  for  your  own  sake,  as  well  as  your  old  mother's,  I 
hope  to  God  you  ain't!"  said  Sol.  "But  this  here  thing 
looks  mighty  bad  for  somebody,  Joe.  I'm  goin'  to  take  you 
over  to  Bill  Frost's  and  turn  you  over  to  the  law." 

Joe  made  no  comment,  but  led  the  way  around  the  house. 
At  the  kitchen  window  Greening  laid  a  restraining  hand  on 
Joe's  shoulder  and  stopped  him,  while  lie  looked  in  at  the 
corpse  of  Isom  Chase. 


Deliverance  121 


"Him  and  me,  we  served  on  the  same  jury  this  afternoon," 
said  Sol,  nodding  toward  the  window  as  he  turned  away. 
"  I  rode  to  overtake  him  on  the  way  home,  but  he  had  the 
start  of  me;  and  I  was  just  goin'  in  the  gate  when  I  heard 
that  shot.  I  poled  right  over  here.  On  the  same  jury,  and 
now  he's  dead !  " 

As  they  approached  the  gate  Joe  looked  back,  the  events 
of  the  past  few  minutes  and  the  shock  of  the  tragedy,  which 
had  fallen  as  swift  as  a  lightning  stroke,  stunning  him  out  of 
his  usual  cool  reasoning. 

There  lay  the  house,  its  roof  white  in  the  moonlight,  a  little 
stream  of  yellow  coming  through  the  kitchen  window,  striking 
the  lilac-bushes  and  falling  brokenly  on  the  grass  beyond. 
There  was  reality  in  that ;  but  in  this  whirl  of  events  which 
crowded  his  mind  there  was  no  tangible  thing  to  lay  hold 
upon. 

That  Isom  was  dead  on  the  kitchen  floor  seemed  impossible 
and  unreal,  like  an  event  in  a  dream  which  one  struggles 
against  the  terror  of,  consoling  himself,  yet  not  convincingly, 
as  he  fights  its  sad  illusions,  with  the  argument  that  it  is 
nothing  but  a  vision,  and  that  with  waking  it  will  pass  away. 

What  was  this  awful  thing  with  which  Sol  Greening  had 
charged  him,  over  which  the  whole  neighborhood  soon  must 
talk  and  conjecture? 

Murder ! 

There  was  no  kinder  word.  Yet  the  full  terror  of  its  mean 
ing  was  not  over  him,  for  his  senses  still  swirled  and  felt 
numb  in  the  suddenness  of  the  blow.  He  had  not  meant  that 
this  accusation  should  fasten  upon  him  when  he  sent  Ollie 
from  the  room;  he  had  not  thought  that  far  ahead.  His  one 
concern  was  that  she  should  not  be  found  there,  dressed  and 
ready  to  go,  and  the  story  of  her  weakness  and  folly  given 
heartlessly  to  the  world. 

And  Curtis  Morgan  —  where  was  he,  the  man  to  blame  for 


122  TJic  Bondboy 


all  this  thing?  Not  far  away,  thought  Joe,  driving  that, 
white  road  in  security,  perhaps,  even  that  very  hour,  while 
he,  who  had  stood  between  him  and  his  unholy  desires,  was 
being  led  awav  bv  Sol  Greening  like  a  calf  in  a  rope  They 
were  m)in£  to  charge  him  with  the  murder  of  Isoin  Chase  and 

o  o  o 

take  him  away  to  jail. 

How  far  would  Morgan  permit  them  to  go?  Would  he 
come  forward  to  bear  his  share  of  it,  or  would  he  skulk  away 
like  a  coward  and  leave  him,  the  bondman,  to  defend  the  name 
of  his  dead  master's  wife  at  the  cost  of  his  own  honor  and 
liberty,  perhaps  his  life? 

All  that  had  gone  before  Lsom  threw  his  life  away  in  that 
moment  of  blind  anger,  must  be  laid  bare  if  he  was  to  free 
himself  of  the  shadow  of  suspicion.  It  was  not  the  part  of 
an  honorable  man  to  seek  his  own  comfort  and  safety  at  the 
cost  of  a  woman's  name,  no  matter  how  unworthy  he  knew  her 
to  be,  while  that  name  and  fame  still  stood  flawless  before 
the  world.  In  the  absence  of  some  other  avenue  to  vindica 
tion,  a  gentleman  must  suffer  in  silence,  even  to  death  It 
would  be  cruel,  unjust,  and  hard  to  bear,  but  that  was  the 
only  way.  He  wondered  if  ()!!ie  understood. 

But  there  were  certain  humiliations  and  indignities  which 
a  gentleman  could  not  bend  his  neck  to;  and  being  led  away 
by  an  inferior  man  like  Sol  Greening  to  be  delivered  up,  just 
as  if  he  thought  that  lie  might  have  run  away  if  given  an 
opening,  was  one  of  them.  Sol  had  passed  on  through  the 
open  gate,  which  he  had  not  stopped  to  close  when  he  ran 
in,  before  he  noticed  that  Joe  was  not  following.  He  looked 
back.  Joe  was  standing  inside  the  fence,  his  arms  folded 
across  his  chest. 

"Come  on  here!"  ordered  Sol. 

"  Xo,  I'm  not  going  any  farther  with  you,  Sol,"  said  Joe 
quietly.  ''If  there's  any  arresting  to  be  done,  I  guess  I  can 
do  it  myself." 


Deliverance  123 


Greening  was  a  self-important  man  in  his  small-bore  way, 
who  saw  in  this  night's  tragedy  fine  material  for  increasing 
his  consequence,  at  least  temporarily,  in  that  community. 
The  first  man  on  the  bloody  scene,  the  man  to  shut  up  the 
room  for  the  coroner,  the  man  to  make  the  arrest  and  deliver 
the  murderer  to  the  constable  —  all  within  half  an  hour.  It 
was  a  distinction  which  Greening  did  not  feel  like  yielding. 

"  Come  on  here,  I  tell  you ! "  he  commanded  again. 

"  If  you  want  to  get  on  your  horse  and  go  after  Bill,  I'll 
wait  right  here  till  he  comes,"  said  Joe ;  "  but  I'll  not  go  any 
farther  with  you.  I  didn't  shoot  Isom,  Sol,  and  you  know  it. 
If  you  don't  want  to  go  after  Bill,  then  I'll  go  on  over  there 
alone  and  tell  him  what's  happened.  If  he  wants  to  arrest 
me  then,  he  can  do  it." 

Seeing  that  by  this  arrangement  much  of  his  glory  would 
get  away  from  him,  Greening  stepped  forward  and  reached 
out  his  hand,  as  if  to  compel  submission.  Joe  lifted  his  own 
hand  to  intercept  it  with  warning  gesture. 

"  No,  don't  you  touch  me,  Sol ! "  he  cautioned. 

Greening  let  his  hand  fall.  He  stepped  back  a  pace,  Joe's 
subdued,  calm  warning  penetrating  his  senses  like  the  sound 
of  a  blow  on  an  anvil.  Last  week  this  gangling  strip  of  a 
youngster  was  nothing  but  a  boy,  fetching  and  carrying  in 
Isom  Chase's  barn-yard.  Tonight,  big  and  bony  and  broad- 
shouldered,  he  was  a  man,  with  the  same  outward  gentleness 
over  the  iron  inside  of  him  as  old  Peter  Newbolt  before  him ; 
the  same  soft  word  in  his  mouth  as  his  Kentucky  father,  who 
had,  without  oath  or  malediction,  shot  dead  a  Kansas  Redleg, 
in  the  old  days  of  border  strife,  for  spitting  on  his  boot. 

"Will  you  go,  or  shall  I?"  asked  Joe. 

Greening  made  a  show  of  considering  it  a  minute. 

"  Well,  Joe,  you  go  on  over  and  tell  him  yourself,"  said  he, 
putting  on  the  front  of  generosity  and  confidence,  "I  know 
you  won't  run  off." 


12  i  The  Bomlboy 


"  If  I  had  anything  to  run  off  for,  I'd  go  as  quick  as  any 
body,  I  guess,''  said  Joe. 

"I'll  go  and  fetch  the  old  lady  over  to  keep  company  with 
Mrs.  Chase,"  said  Sol,  hurriedly  striking  across  the  road. 

Joe  remained  standing  there  a  little  while.  The  growing 
wind,  which  marked  the  high  tide  of  night,  lifted  his  hat-brim 
and  let  the  moonlight  fall  upon  his  troubled  face.  Around 
him  was  the  peace  of  the  sleeping  earth,  with  its  ripe  harvest 
in  its  hand;  the  scents  of  ripe  leaves  and  fruit  came  out  of 
the  orchard;  the  breath  of  curing  clover  from  the  fields. 

Joe  brought  a  horse  from  the  barn  and  leaped  on  its  bare 
back.  He  turned  into  the  highroad,  lashing  the  animal  with 
the  halter,  and  galloped  away  to  summon  Constable  Bill 
Frost. 

Past  hedges  he  rode,  where  cricket  drummers  beat  the  long 
roll  for  the  muster  of  winter  days;  past  gates  letting  into 
fields,  clamped  and  chained  to  their  posts  as  if  jealous  of  the 
plenty  which  they  guarded;  past  farmsteads  set  in  dark  for 
ests  of  orchard  trees  and  tall  windbreaks  of  tapering  poplar, 
where  never  a  light  gleamed  from  a  pane,  where  sons  and 
daughters,  worn  husbandmen  and  weary  wives,  lav  sooth*  d 
in  honest  slumber;  past  barn-yards,  where  cattle  sighed  as 
they  lay  in  the  moonshine  champing  upon  their  cuds;  do\\n 
into  swales,  where  the  air  was  damp  and  cold,  like  a  wet  hand 
on  the  face;  up  to  hill-crests,  over  which  the  perfumes  of 
autumn  were  blowing  —  the  spices  of  goldenrod  and  ragweed, 
the  elusive  scent  of  hedge  orange,  the  sweet  of  curing  fodder 
in  the  shock  ;  past  peace  and  contentment,  and  the  ripe  re 
ward  of  men's  summer  toil. 

Isom  Chase  was  dead;  stark,  white,  with  blood  upon  bis 
beard. 

There  a  dog  barked,  far  away,  raising  a  ripple  on  the 
placid  night;  there  a  cock  crowed,  and  there  another  caught 
his  cry;  it  passed  on,  on.  fading  away  eastward,  traveling 


Deliverance  125 


like  an  alarm,  like  a  spreading  wave,  until  it  spent  itself 
against  the  margin  of  breaking  day. 

Isom  Chase  was  dead,  with  an  armful  of  gold  upon  his 
breast. 

Aye,  Isom  Chase  was  dead.  Back  there  in  the  still  house 
his  limbs  were  stiffening  upon  his  kitchen  floor.  Isom  Chase 
was  dead  on  the  eve  of  the  most  bountiful  harvest  his  lands 
had  3rielded  him  in  all  his  toil-freighted  years.  Dead,  with 
his  fields  around  him ;  dead,  with  the  maize  dangling  heavy 
ears  in  the  white  moonlight ;  dead,  with  the  gold  of  pumpkin 
lurking  like  unminted  treasure  in  the  margin  of  his  field. 
Dead,  with  fat  cattle  in  his  pastures,  fat  swine  in  his  con 
fines,  sleek  horses  in  his  barn-stalls,  fat  cockerels  on  his  perch ; 
dead,  with  a  young  wife  shrinking  among  the  shadows  above 
his  cold  forehead,  her  eyes  unclouded  by  a  tear,  her  panting 
breast  undisturbed  by  a  sigh  of  pity  or  of  pain. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WILL    HE    TELL? 

CONSTABLE  Bill  Frost  was  not  a  man  of  such  acute 
suspicion  as  Sol  Greening.  lie  was  a  thin,  slow  man 
with  a  high,  sharp  nose  and  a  sprangling,  yellow  mustache 
which  extended  broadly,  like  the  horns  of  a  steer.  It  did  not 
enter  his  mind  to  connect  Joe  with  the  tragedy  in  a  criminal 
way  as  they  rode  together  back  to  the  farm. 

When  they  arrived,  they  found  Sol  Greening  and  his 
married  son  Dan  sitting  on  the  front  steps.  Mrs.  Greening 
was  upstairs,  comforting  the  young  widow,  who  was  "  racked 
like  a  fiddle,"  according  to  Sol. 

Sol  took  the  constable  around  to  the  window  and  pointed 
out  the  body  of  Isom  stretched  beside  the  table. 

"  You're  a  officer  of  the  law,"  said  Sol,  "  and  these  here 
primisis  is  now  in  your  hands  and  charge,  but  I  don't  think 
you  orto  go  in  that  room.  I  think  you  orto  leave  him  lay, 
just  the  way  he  dropped,  for  the  coroner.  That's  the  la\v." 

Frost  was  of  the  same  opinion.  lie  had  no  stomach  for 
prying  around  dead  men,  anyhow. 

"We'll  leave  him  lay,  Sol,"  said  he. 

"And  it's  my  opinion  that  you  orto  put  handcuffs  on  that 
feller,"  said  Sol. 

"Which  feller?"  asked  Bill. 

"That  boy  Joe,"  said  Sol. 

"Well,  I  ain't  got  any,  and  I  wouldn't  put  'em  on  him  if 
I  had,"  said  Bill.  "lie  told  me  all  about  how  it  happened 
when  we  was  comin'  over.  Why,  you  don't  suspiciont  he  done 
it,  do  you,  Sol?" 

"Circumstantial  evidence,"  said  Sol,  fresh  from  jury  >er- 

126 


Will  He  Tell?  127 


vice  and  full  of  the  law,  "  is  dead  ag'in'  him,  Bill.  If  I  was 
you  I'd  slap  him  under  arrest.  They  had  words,  you  know." 

"  Yes ;  he  told  me  they  did,"  said  Bill. 

"  But  he  didn't  tell  you  what  them  words  was  about,"  said 
Sol  deeply. 

The  constable  turned  to  Sol,  the  shaft  of  suspicion  working 
its  way  through  the  small  door  of  his  mind. 

"  By  ganny !  "  said  he. 

"  I'd  take  him  up  and  hand  him  over  to  the  sheriff  in  the 
morning,"  advised  Sol. 

"  I  reckon  I  better  do  it,"  Frost  agreed,  almost  knocked 
breathless  by  the  importance  of  the  thing  he  had  overlooked. 

So  they  laid  their  heads  together  to  come  to  a  proper 
method  of  procedure,  and  presently  they  marched  around  the 
corner  of  the  house,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  as  if  prepared  to 
intercept  and  overwhelm  Joe  if  he  tried  to  make  a  dash  for 
liberty. 

They  had  left  Joe  sitting  on  the  steps  with  Dan,  and  now 
they  hurried  around  as  if  they  expected  to  find  his  place 
empty  and  Dan  stretched  out,  mangled  and  bleeding.  But 
Joe  was  still  there,  in  friendly  conversation  with  Dan,  show 
ing  no  intention  of  running  away.  Frost  advanced  and  laid 
his  hand  on  Joe's  shoulder. 

"Joe  Newbolt,"  said  he,  "I  put  }TOU  under  arrest  on  the 
suspiciont  of  shootin'  and  murderin'  Isom  Chase  in  cold 
blood." 

It  was  a  formula  contrived  between  the  constable  and  Sol. 
Sol  had  insisted  on  the  "  cold  blood."  That  was  important 
and  necessary,  he  declared.  Omit  that  in  making  the  arrest, 
and  you  had  no  case.  It  would  fall  through. 

Joe  stood  up,  placing  himself  at  the  immediate  disposal 
of  the  constable,  which  was  rather  embarrassing  to  Bill. 

"Well,  Bill,  if  you  think  it's  necessary,  all  right,"  said  he. 

"  Form  of  law  demands  it,"  said  Sol. 


128 The    Bondboy 

"  But  you  might  wait  anrl  sec  wlmt  the  coroner  thinks  about 
it,''  suggested  Joe. 

'"  Perliminaries,"  said  Greening  in  his  deep  way. 

Then  the  question  of  what  to  do  with  the  prisoner  until 
morning  arose.  Joe  pointed  out  that  they  could  make  no 
disposition  of  him,  except  to  hold  him  in  custody,  until  the 
coroner  had  he-Id  an  inquest  into  the  case  and  a  conclusion 
had  heen  reached  by  the  .jury.  lie  suggested  that  thcv  allow 
him  to  go  to  bed  and  get  some  needed  sleep. 

That  seemed  to  be  a  very  sensible  suggestion,  according  to 
Hill's  view  of  it.  Hut  Sol  didn't  know  whether  it  would  V 
a  regular  proceeding  and  in  strict  accord  with  the  forms  of 
law.  Indeed,  he  was  of  the  opinion,  after  deliberating  a  while, 
that  it  would  weaken  the  case  materially.  lie  was  strongly 
in  favor  of  handcuffs,  or,  in  the  absence  of  regulation  mana 
cles,  a  half-inch  rope. 

After  a  great  deal  of  discussion,  during  which  Frost  ke  >t 
his  hand  officiously  on  Joe's  shoulder,  it  was  agreed  that  the 
prisoner  should  be  allowed  to  go  to  bed.  lie  was  to  be  lodged 
in  the  spare  room  upstairs,  the  one  lately  occupied  by  Mor 
gan.  Frost  escorted  him  to  it,  and  locked  the  door. 

''Is  they  erry  winder  in  that  room?"  asked  Sol,  when  Hill 
came  back. 

"Reckon  so,"  said  Frost,  starting  nervously.  "I  didn't 
look." 

"Hetter  sec,"  said  Sol,  getting  up  to  investigate. 

They  went  round  to  the  side  of  the  house.  Yes,  there  was 
a  window,  and  it  was  wide  open. 

Hut  any  doubt  that  the  prisoner  might  have  cscap  d 
through  it  was  soon  quieted  by  the  sound  of  his  snore.  Joe 
had  thrown  himself  across  the  bed,  boots  and  all,  and  \\  us 
already  shoulder-deep  in  sleep.  They  decided  that,  at  day 
light,  Sol's  son  should  ride  to  the  county-seat,  seven  miles 
distant,  and  notify  the  coroner. 


Will  He  Tell?  129 


During  the  time  they  spent  between  Joe's  retirement  and 
daybreak,  Sol  improved  the  minutes  by  arraigning,  convict 
ing,  and  condemning  Joe  for  the  murder  of  old  Isom.  lie  did 
it  so  impressively  that  he  had  Constable  Frost  on  edge  over 
the  tremendous  responsibility  that  rested  on  his  back.  Bill 
was  in  a  sweat,  although  the  night  was  cool.  He  tiptoed 
around,  listening,  spying,  prying ;  he  stood  looking  up  at 
Joe's  window  until  his  neck  ached ;  he  explored  the  yard  for 
hidden  weapons  and  treasure,  and  he  peered  and  poked  with 
a  rake-handle  into  shrubbery  and  vines. 

They  could  hear  the  women  upstairs  talking  once  in  a  while, 
and  now  and  again  they  caught  the  sound  of  a  piteous  moan. 

"  She  ain't  seen  him,"  said  Sol ;  "  I  wouldn't  let  her  come 
down.  She  may  not  be  in  no  condition  to  look  on  a  muss  like 
that,  her  a  young  woman  and  only  married  a  little  while." 

Bill  agreed  on  that,  as  he  agreed  on  every  hypothesis  which 
Sol  propounded  out  of  his  wisdom,  now  that  his  official  heat 
had  been  raised. 

"  If  I  hadn't  got  here  when  I  did  he'd  'a'  skinned  out  with 
all  of  that  money,"  said  Sol.  "  He  was  standin'  there  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  all  ready  to  scoop  it  up." 

"  How'd  he  come  to  go  after  me?  "  asked  Bill. 

"Well,  folks  don't  always  do  things  on  their  own  accord," 
said  Sol,  giving  Bill  an  unmistakable  look. 

"Oh,  that  was  the  way  of  it,"  nodded  Bill.  "  I  thought  it 
was  funny  if  he — 

"He  knowcd  he  didn't  have  a  ghost  of  a  chance  to  git 
away  between  me  and  you,"  said  Sol. 

Morning  came,  and  with  it  rode  Sol's  son  to  fetch  the 
coroner. 

Sol  had  established  himself  in  the  case  so  that  he  would 
lose  very  little  glory  in  the  day's  revelations,  and  there 
remained  one  pleasant  duty  yet  which  he  proposed  to  take 
upon  himself.  That  was  nothing  less  than  carrying  the  news 


130  The  Bondboy 


of  the  tragedy  and  Joe's  arrest  to  Mrs.  Newbolt  in  her  lonely 
home  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

Sol's  son  spread  the  news  as  he  rode  through  the  thin 
morning  to  the  county-seat,  drawing  up  at  barn-yard  gates, 
hailing  the  neighbors  on  the  way  to  their  fields,  pouring  the 
amazing  story  into  the  avid  ears  of  all  who  met  him.  Sol 
carried  the  story  in  the  opposite  direction,  trotting  his 
horse  along  full  of  leisurely  importance  and  the  enjoyment  of 
the  distinction  which  had  fallen  on  him  through  his  early 
connection  with  the  strange  event.  When  they  heard  it,  men 
turned  hack  from  their  fields  and  hastened  to  the  Chase  farm, 
to  peer  through  the  kitchen  window  and  shock  their  toil- 
blimted  senses  in  the  horror  of  the  scene. 

Curiosity  is  stronger  than  thrift  in  most  men,  and  those 
of  that  community  were  no  better  fortified  against  it  than 
others  of  their  kind.  Long  before  Sol  Greening's  great 
lubberly  son  reached  the  county-seat,  a  crowd  had  gathered 
at  the  farmstead  of  Isom  Chase.  Bill  Frost,  now  bristling 
with  the  dignity  of  his  official  power,  moved  among  them 
soberly,  the  object  of  great  respect  as  the  living,  moving 
embodiment  of  the  law. 

Yesterday  he  was  only  Bill  Frost,  a  tenant  of  rented  land, 
filling  an  office  that  was  only  a  name;  this  morning  he  was 
Constable  Bill  Frost,  with  the  power  and  dignity  of  the  State 
of  Missouri  behind  him,  guarding  a  house  of  mystery  and 
death.  Law  and  authority  had  transformed  him  overnight, 
settling  upon  him  as  the  spirit  used  to  come  upon  the  prophets 
in  the  good  old  days. 

Bill  had  only  to  stretch  out  his  arm,  and  strong  men  would 
fall  back,  pale  and  awed,  away  from  the  wall  of  the  house; 
he  had  but  to  caution  them  in  a  low  word  to  keep  hands  off 
everything,  to  be  instantly  obeyed.  They  drew  away  into 
the  yard  and  stood  in  low-voiced  groups,  the  process  of 
thought  momentarily  stunned  by  this  terrible  thing. 


Will  He  Tell?  131 


"Ain't  it  awful?"  a  graybeard  would  whisper  to  a  strip 
ling  youth. 

"Ain't  it  terrible?"  would  come  the  reply. 

"Well,  well,  well!    Oldlsom!" 

That  was  as  far  as  any  of  them  could  go.  Then  they 
would  walk  softly,  scarcely  breathing,  to  the  window  and 
peep  in  again. 

Joe,  unhailed  and  undisturbed,  was  spinning  out  his  sleep. 
Mrs.  Greening  brought  coffee  and  refreshments  for  the  young 
widow  from  her  own  kitchen  across  the  road,  and  the  sun  rose 
and  drove  the  mists  out  of  the  hollows,  as  a  shepherd  drives 
his  flocks  out  to  graze  upon  the  hill. 

As  Sol  Greening  hitched  his  horse  to  the  Widow  New- 
bolt's  fence,  he  heard  her  singing  with  long-drawn  quavers 
and  lingering  semibreves : 

There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood, 
Draivn  from  Immanuers  veins      .... 

She  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door,  a  pan  in  her  hand,  a 
flock  of  expectant  chickens  craning  their  necks  to  see  what 
she  had  to  offer,  at  the  instant  that  Sol  came  around  the 
corner  of  the  house.  She  all  but  let  the  pan  fall  in  her  amaze 
ment,  and  the  song  was  cut  off  between  her  lips  in  the  middle 
of  a  word,  for  it  was  not  more  than  six  o'clock,  uncommonly 
early  for  visitors. 

"Mercy  me,  Sol  Greening,  you  give  me  an  awful  jump!" 
said  she. 

"  Well,  I  didn't  aim  to,"  said  Sol,  turning  over  in  his  mind 
the  speech  that  he  had  drawn  up  in  the  last  uninterrupted 
stage  of  his  journey  over. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  looked  at  him  sharply,  turning  her  head  a 
little'  with  a  quick,  pert  movement,  not  unlike  one  of  her  hens. 

"  Is  anybody  sick  over  your  way?"  she  asked. 

She  could  not   account   for   the  earlv  visit  in   anv  other 


manner.  People  commonly  came  for  her  at  all  hours  of  the 
day  and  night  when  there  was  somebody  sick  and  in  need  of 
a  herb-wise  nurse.  She  had  helped  a  threat  many  of  the  young 
ones  of  that  community  into  the  world,  and  she  had  eased  the 
pains  of  many  old  ones  who  were  quitting  it.  So  she  thought 
that  Greening's  visit  must  have  something  to  do  with  either 
life  or  death. 

"  \o,  nobody  just  azackly  sick,"  dodged  Greening. 

"  Well,  laws  my  soul,  you  make  a  might v  mvstcrv  over  it! 
What's  the  matter  —  can't  you  talk?" 

"  But  I  can't  say,  Missis  Xewbolt,  that  everybody's  just 
a/ackly  well,"  said  he. 

"Some  of  your  folks?" 

"  \o,  not  none  of  mine,"  said  Sol. 

"Then  whose?"  she  inquired  impatiently. 

"  Isom's,"  said  he. 

''You  don't  mean  my  Joe?"  she  asked  slowly,  a  shadow  of 
pain  drawing  her  face. 

"  I  mean  Isom,"  said  Sol. 

"Isom?"  said  she,  relieved.  "Why  didn't  Joe  come  after 
me?"  Before  Sol  could  adjust  his  program  to  meet  this 
unexpected  exigency,  she  demanded:  "Well,  what's  the  matter 
with  Isom?" 

"Dead,"  said  Sol,  dropping  his  voice  impressively. 

"You  don't  mean  —  well,  shades  of  mercy,  Isom  dead! 
What  was  it  —  cholera-morbus?  " 

"  Killed,"  said  So]  ;  "shot  down  with  his  own  gun  and  killed 
as  dead  as  a  dornix." 

"His  own  gun!     Well,  sakes  —  who  done  it?" 

"  Only  one  man  knows,"  said  Sol,  shaking  his  head 
solemnly.  "  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was." 

Sol  started  away  back  at  the  summons  to  jury  service, 
worked  up  to  the  case  in  which  he  and  Isom  had  sat  together, 
followed  Isom  then  along  the  road  home,  and  galloped  to 


Witt  He  Tell?  133 


overtake  him.  He  arrived  at  his  gate  —  all  in  his  long  and 
complete  narrative  —  again,  as  he  had  done  in  reality  the 
night  past ;  he  heard  the  shot  in  Isom's  house ;  he  leaped  to 
the  ground ;  he  ran.  He  saw  a  light  in  the  kitchen  of  Isom's 
house,  but  the  door  was  closed ;  he  knocked,  and  somebody 
called  to  him  to  enter.  He  opened  the  door  and  saw  Isom 
lying  there,  still  and  bloody,  money  —  gold  money  —  all  over 
him,  and  a  man  standing  there  beside  him.  There  was  no 
body  else  in  the  room. 

"Shades  of  mercy!"  she  gasped.     "Who  was  that  man?" 

Sol  looked  at  her  pityingly.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  fore 
head  as  if  it  gave  him  pain  to  speak. 

"  It  was  your  Joe,"  said  he. 

She  sighed,  greatly  lightened  and  relieved. 

"  Oh,  then  Joe  he  told  you  how  it  happened?  "  said  she. 

"Ma'am,"  said  Sol  impressively,  "he  said  they  was  alone 
in  the  kitchen  when  it  happened;  he  said  him  and  Isom  had 
some  words,  and  Isom  he  reached  up  to  pull  down  the  gun, 
and  the  hammer  caught,  and  it  went  off  and  shot  him.  That's 
what  Joe  told  me,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  Sol  Greening,  you  talk  like  you  didn't  believe  him ! " 
she  scorned.  "  If  Joe  said  that,  it's  so." 

"  I  hope  to  God  it  is ! "  said  Sol,  drawing  a  great 
breath. 

If  Sol  had  looked  for  tears,  his  eyes  were  cheated;  if  he 
had  listened  for  screams,  wailings,  and  meanings,  his  ears 
were  disappointed.  Sarah  Newbolt  stood  straight  and 
haughtily  scornful  in  her  kitchen  door,  her  dark  eyes  bright 
between  their  snapping  lids. 

"Where's  Joe?"  she  asked  sternly. 

"  He's  over  there,"  said  Sol,  feeling  that  he  had  made  a 
noise  like  a  peanut-bag  which  one  inflates  and  smashes  in  the 
palm  in  the  expectation  of  startling  the  world. 

"Have  they  took  him  up?" 


134  The  Bondboi/ 


"  Well,  you  sec,  Bill  Frost's  kind  of  kccpin'  his  eye  on  him 
till  the  inquest,"  explained  Sol. 

"Yes,  and  I  could  name  the  man  that  put  him  up  to  it," 
said  she. 

"Well,  circumstantial  evidence—  "  began  Sol. 

"Oh,  circumstance  your  granny!"  she  stopped  him  pet 
tishly. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  emptied  her  pan  among  the  scrambling  fowls 
by  turning  it  suddenly  upside  down.  That  done,  she  reached 
behind  her  and  put  it  on  the  table.  Her  face  had  grown  hard 
and  severe,  and  her  eyes  were  fierce. 

"Wouldn't  believe  my  boy!"  said  she  bitterly.  "Are  you 
going  over  that  way  now?" 

"  Guess  I'll  be  riclin'  along  over." 

"Well,  you  tell  Joe  that  I'll  be  there  as  quick  as  shank's 
horses  can  carry  me,"  she  said,  turning  away  from  the  door, 
leaving  Sol  to  gather  what  pleasure  he  was  able  out  of  the 
situation. 

She  lost  no  time  in  primping  and  preparing,  but  was  on  the 
road  before  Sol  had  gone  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

Airs.  Newbolt  cut  across  fields,  arriving  at  the  Chase  farm 
almost  as  soon  as  Sol  Greening  did  on  his  strawberry  roan. 
The  coroner  had  not  come  when  she  got  there ;  Bill  Frost 
allowed  Joe  to  come  down  to  the  unused  parlor  of  old  Isom's 
house  to  talk  with  her.  Frost  showed  a  disposition  to  linger 
within  the  room  and  hear  what  was  said,  but  she  pushed 
him  out. 

"I'll  not  let  him  run  off,  Bill  Frost,"  said  she.  "If  he'd 
•wanted  to  run,  if  he'd  had  anything  to  run  from,  he  could 
'a'  gone  last  night,  couldn't  he,  you  dunce?" 

She  closed  the  door,  and  no  word  of  what  passed  between 
mother  and  son  reached  the  outside  of  it,  although  Bill  Frost 
strained  his  ear  against  it,  listening. 

When  the  coroner  arrived  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  he 


Witt  lie  Tell?  135 


found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  jury  to  inquire  into  Isom's 
death.  The  major  and  minor  male  inhabitants  of  the  entire 
neighborhood  were  assembled  there,  every  qualified  man  of 
them  itching  to  sit  on  the  jury.  As  the  coroner  had  need  of 
but  six,  and  these  being  soon  chosen,  the  others  had  no 
further  pleasure  to  look  forward  to  save  the  inquiry  into  the 
tragedy. 

After  examining  the  wound  which  caused  Isom's  death,  the 
coroner  had  ordered  the  body  removed  from  the  kitchen  floor. 
The  lamp  was  still  burning  on  the  table,  and  the  coroner  blew 
it  out ;  the  gold  lay  scattered  on  the  floor  where  it  had  fallen, 
and  he  gathered  it  up  and  put  it  in  the  little  sack. 

When  the  coroner  went  to  the  parlor  to  convene  the  inquest, 
the  crowd  packed  after  him.  Those  who  were  not  able  to 
get  into  the  room  clustered  in  a  bunch  at  the  door,  and  pro 
truded  themselves  in  at  the  windows,  silent  and  expectant. 

Joe  sat  with  his  mother  on  one  hand,  Constable  Frost  on 
the  other,  and  across  the  room  was  Ollie,  wedged  between  fat 
Mrs.  Sol  Greening  and  her  bony  daughter-in-law,  who  claimed 
the  office  of  ministrants  on  the  ground  of  priority  above  all 
the  gasping,  sympathetic,  and  exclaiming  females  who  had 
arrived  after  them. 

Ollie  was  pale  and  exhausted  in  appearance,  her  face  drawn 
and  bloodless,  like  that  of  one  who  wakes  out  of  an  anes 
thetic  after  a  surgical  operation  upon  some  vital  part.  Her 
eyes  were  hollowed,  her  nostrils  pinched,  but  there  was  no 
trace  of  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  The  neighbors  said  it  was 
dry  grief,  the  deepest  and  most  lasting  that  racks  the  human 
heart.  The}7  pitied  her,  so  young  and  fair,  so  crushed  and 
bowed  under  that  sudden,  dark  sorrow. 

Mrs.  Greening  had  thrown  something  black  over  the  young 
widow's  shoulders,  of  which  she  seemed  unaware.  It  kept 
slipping  and  falling  down,  revealing  her  white  dress,  and  Mrs. 
Greening  kept  adjusting  it  with  motherly  hand.  Sitting 


13G  The    Bondboij 


bent,  like  an  old  woman,  Ollie  twisted  and  wound  her  nervous, 
hot  fingers  in  her  hip.  Now  and  then  she  lifted  her  eves 
to  Joe's,  as  if  struggling  to  read  what  intention  lay  behind 
the  pale  calm  of  his  face. 

No  wonder  she  looked  at  him  wild  and  fearful,  people  said. 
It  was  more  than  anybody  could  understand,  that  sudden 
development  of  fierce  passion  and  treachery  in  a  boy  who 
always  had  been  so  shy  and  steady.  Xo  wonder  she  ga/ed 
at  him  that  way,  poor  thing! 

Of  course  they  did  not  dream  how  far  they  were  from 
interpreting  that  look  in  the  young  widow's  eyes.  There  was 
one  question  in  her  life  that  morning,  and  one  only,  it  seemed. 
It  stood  in  front  of  the  future  and  blocked  all  thought  of 
it  like  a  heavy  door.  Over  and  over  it  revolved  in  her  mind. 
It  was  written  in  fire  in  her  aching  brain. 

When  thev  put  Joe  Xewbolt  on  the  witness-stand  and  asked 
him  how  it  happened,  would  he  stand  true  to  his  first  inten 
tion  and  protect  her,  or  would  he  betray  it  all? 

That  was  what  troubled  Ollie.  She  did  not  know,  and  in 
his  face  there  was  no  answer. 

Sol  Greening  was  the  first  witness.  He  told  again  to 
the  jury  of  his  neighbors  the  story  which  he  had  gone 
over  a  score  of  times  that  morning.  Mrs.  Xewbolt  nodded 
when  he  related  what  Joe  had  told  him,  as  if  to  say  there 
was  no  doubt  about  that ;  Joe  had  told  her  the  same  thing. 
It  was  true. 

The  coroner,  a  quick,  sharp  little  man  with  a  beard  of 
unnatural  blackness,  thick  eyebrows  and  sleek  hair,  helped 
him  along  with  a  question  now  and  then. 

"  There  was  nobody  in  the  room  but  Joe  Xewbolt  when 
you  arrived?" 

"Nobody  else  —  no  livin'  body/'  replied  Sol. 

"No  other  living  body.  And  Joe  Xewbolt  was  standing 
beside  the  body  of  Isom  Chase,  near  the  head,  you  say?" 


Will  He  Tell?  137 


"Yes,  near  Isom's  head." 

"With  his  hat  in  his  hand,  as  if  he  had  just  entered  the 
room,  or  was  about  to  leave  it?  " 

Sol  nodded. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  a  man  who  had  been  board 
ing  here  the  past  week  or  two?" 

The  coroner  seemed  to  ask  this  as  an  afterthought. 

"  Morgan,"  said  Sol,  crossing  his  legs  the  other  way  for 
relief.  "Yes,  I  knowed  him." 

"  Did  you  see  him  here  last  night  ?  " 

"No,  he  wasn't  here.  The  old  lady  said  he  stopped  in  at 
our  house  yesterday  morning  to  sell  me  a  ready-reckoner." 

Sol  chuckled,  perhaps  over  what  he  considered  a  narrow 
escape. 

"I  was  over  at  Shelbyville,  on  the  jury,  and  I  wasn't 
there,  so  he  didn't  sell  it.  Been  tryin'  to  for  a  week.  He 
told  the  old  lady  that  was  his  last  day  here,  and  he  was 
leavin'  then." 

"And  about  what  time  of  night  was  it  when  you  heard 
the  shot  in  Isom  Chase's  house,  and  ran  over?" 

"  Along  about  first  rooster-crow,"  said  Sol. 

"And  that  might  be  about  what  hour?" 

"  Well,  I've  knowed  'em  to  crow  at  'leven  this  time  o'  year, 
and  ag'in  I've  knowed  'em  to  put  it  off  as  late  as  two.  But 
I  should  judge  that  it  was  about  twelve  when  I  come  over 
here  the  first  time  last  night." 

Sol  was  excused  with  that.  He  left  the  witness-chair  with 
ponderous  solemnity.  The  coroner's  stenographer  had  taken 
down  his  testimony,  and  was  now  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
as  serenely  as  if  unconscious  of  his  own  marvelous  accom 
plishment  of  being  able  to  write  down  a  man's  words  as  fast 
as  he  could  talk. 

Not  so  to  those  who  beheld  the  feat  for  the  first  time.  They 
watched  the  young  man,  who  was  a  ripe-cheeked  chap  with 


138 The  Bondboy 

pale  hair,  as  if  they  expected  to  catch  him  in  the  fraud  and 
pretense  of  it  in  the  end,  and  lay  bare  the  deceit  -which  he 
practised  upon  the  world. 

The  coroner  was  making  notes  of  his  own,  stroking  his 
black  beard  thoughtfully,  and  in  the  pause  between  witnesses 
the  assembled  neighbors  had  the  pleasure  of  inspecting  the 
parlor  of  dead  Isom  Chase  which  they  had  invaded,  into 
which,  living,  he  never  had  invited  them. 

Isom's  first  wife  had  arranged  that  room,  in  the  hope  of  her 
young  heart,  years  and  years  ago.  lis  walls  were  papered 
in  bridal  gaiety,  its  colors  still  bright,  for  the  full  light  of 
day  seldom  fell  into  it  as  now.  There  hung  a  picture  of 
that  bride's  father,  a  man  with  shaved  lip  and  a  forest  of 
beard  from  ears  to  Adam's  apple,  in  a  little  oval  frame; 
and  there,  across  the  room,  was  another,  of  her  mother, 
Quakerish  in  look,  with  smooth  hair  and  a  white  something 
on  her  neck  and  bosom,  held  at  her  throat  by  a  portrait 
brooch.  On  the  table,  just  under  that  fast-writing  young 
man's  eyes,  was  a  glass  thing  shaped  like  a  cake  cover,  pro 
tecting  some  flowers  made  of  human  hair,  and  sprigs  of 
bachelor's  button,  faded  now,  and  losing  their  petals. 

There  hung  the  marriage  certificate  of  Isom  and  his  first 
wife,  framed  in  tarnished  gilt  which  was  flaking  from  the 
wood,  a  blue  ribbon  through  a  slit  in  one  corner  of  the 
document,  like  the  pendant  of  a  seal,  and  there  stood  the 
horsehair-upholstered  chairs,  so  spare  of  back  and  thin  of 
shank  that  the  rustics  would  stand  rather  than  trust  their 
corn-fed  weight  upon  them.  Underfoot  was  a  store-bought 
carpet,  as  full  of  roses  as  the  Klysian  Fields,  and  over  by 
the  door  lay  a  round,  braided  rag  mat,  into  which  Isom's 
old  wife  had  stitched  the  hunger  of  her  heart  and  the  brine 
of  her  lonely  tears. 

The  coroner  looked  up  from  his  little  red-leather  note-book. 

".Joe  Xcwbolt,  step  over  here  and  be  sworn,"  said  he. 


Will  He  Tell?  139 


Joe  crossed  over  to  the  witness-chair,  picking  his  way 
through  feet  and  legs.  As  he  turned,  facing  the  coroner,  his 
hand  upraised,  Ollie  looked  at  him  steadily,  her  fingers  flut 
tering  and  twining. 

Twelve  hours  had  made  a  woeful  change  in  her.  She  was 
as  gaunt  as  a  suckling  she-hound,  an  old  terror  lay  lurking 
in  her  young  eyes.  For  one  hour  of  dread  is  worse  than  a 
year  of  weeping.  One  may  grieve,  honestly  and  deeply,  with 
out  wearing  away  the  checks  or  burning  out  the  heart,  for 
there  is  a  soft  sorrow  which  lies  upon  the  soul  like  a  deaden 
ing  mist  upon  the  autumn  fields.  But  there  is  no  worry 
without  waste.  One  day  of  it  will  burn  more  of  the  fuel  of 
human  life  than  a  decade  of  placid  sorrow. 

How  much  would  he  tell  ?  Would  it  be  all  —  the  story  of 
the  caress  in  the  kitchen  door,  the  orchard's  secret,  the 
attempt  to  run  away  from  Isom  —  or  would  he  shield  her  in 
some  manner?  If  he  should  tell  all,  there  sat  an  audience 
ready  to  snatch  the  tale  and  carry  it  away,  and  spread  it 
abroad.  Then  disgrace  would  follow,  pitiless  and  driving, 
and  Morgan  was  not  there  to  bear  her  away  from  it,  or  to 
mitigate  its  sting. 

Bill  Frost  edged  over  and  stood  behind  the  witness  chair. 
His  act  gave  the  audience  a  thrill.  "  He's  under  arrest ! " 
they  whispered,  sending  it  from  car  to  ear.  Most  of  them 
had  known  it  before,  but  there  was  something  so  full  and 
satisfying  in  the  words.  Not  once  before  in  years  had  there 
been  occasion  to  use  them ;  it  might  be  years  again  before 
another  opportunity  presented.  They  had  an  official  sound, 
a  sound  of  adventure  and  desperation.  And  so  they  whis 
pered  them,  neighbor  nodding  to  neighbor  in  deep  under 
standing  as  it  went  round  the  room,  like  a  pass-word  in 
secret  conclave:  "He's  under  arrest!" 

There  was  nobody  present  to  advise  Joe  of  his  rights.     He 

had  been  accused  of  the  crime  and  taken  into  custodv,  vet 
10 


140 Tlic   Bondboi/ 

they  were  calling  on  him  no\v  to  give  evidence  which  might 
be  used  against  him.  If  he  had  any  doubt  about  the-  legality 
of  the  proceeding,  lie  was  too  certain  of  (lie  outcome  of  the 
inquiry  to  hesitate  or  demur.  There  was  not  a  shadow  of 
doubt  in  his  mind  that  his  neighbors,  men  who  had  knov.  u 
him  all  his  life,  and  his  father  before  him,  would  acquit  him 
of  all  blame  in  the  matter  and  set  him  free.  They  would 
believe  him,  assuredly.  Therefore,  he  answered  cheerfully 
when  the  coroner  put  the  usual  questions  concerning  age 
and  nativity.  Then  the  coroner  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Xow,  Joe,  tell  the  jury  just  how  it  happened,"  said 
he. 

The  .jury  looked  up  with  a  little  start  of  guilt  at  the 
coroner's  reference  to  itself,  presenting  a  great  deal  of 
whiskers  and  shocks  of  untrimmed  hair,  together  with  some 
reddening  of  the  face.  For  the  jury  had  been  following  the 
movements  of  the  coroner's  stenographer,  as  if  it,  also,  ex 
pected  to  catch  him  in  the  trick  of  it  that  would  incriminate 
him  and  send  him  to  the  penitentiary  for  lift'. 

''  I'd  been  down  to  the  barn  and  out  by  the  gate,  looking 
around,"  said  Joe.  There  he  paused. 

"Yes;  looking  around,"  encouraged  the  coroner,  believing 
from  the  lad's  appearance  and  slow  manner  that  he  had  a 
dull  fellow  in  hand.  "Now,  what  were  you  looking  around 
for,  Joe  ?  " 

kt  I  had  a  kind  of  uneasy  feeling,  and  I  wanted  to  see  if 
everything  was  safe,"  said  Joe. 

"Afraid  of  horse-thieves,  or  something  like  that?" 

'*  Something  like  that,"  nodded  Joe. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt,  sitting  very  straight-backed,  held  her  lips 
tight,  for  she  was  impressed  with  the  seriousness  of  the 
occasion.  Xow  and  then  she  nodded,  as  if  confirming  to  her 
self  some  foregone  conclusion. 

"  Isom  had   left   me   in   charge  of   the   place,   and   I  didn't 


Will  He  Tell?  141 


want  him  to  come  back  and  find  anything  gone,"  Joe  ex 
plained. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  coroner  in  a  friendly  way.  "  Then  what 
did  you  do?  " 

"  I  went  back  to  the  house  and  lit  the  lamp  in  the  kitchen," 
said  Joe. 

"How  long  was  that  before  Isom  came  in?" 

"  Only  a  little  while ;  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  or  maybe  less." 

"And  what  did  Isom  say  when  he  came  in,  Joe?  " 

"  He  said  he'd  kill  me,  he  was  in  a  temper,"  Joe  replied. 

"  You  had  no  quarrel  before  he  said  that,  Isom  just  burst 
right  into  the  room  and  threatened  to  kill  you,  did  he,  Joe  ? 
Now,  you're  sure  about  that?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  perfectly  sure." 

"What  had  you  done  to  send  Isom  off  into  a  temper  that 
way?" 

"  I  hadn't  done  a  thing,"  said  Joe,  meeting  the  coroner's 
gaze  honestly. 

The  coroner  asked  him  concerning  his  position  in  the  room, 
what  he  was  doing,  and  whether  he  had  anything  in  his  hands 
that  excited  Isom  when  he  saw  it. 

"  My  hands  were  as  empty  as  they  are  this  minute,"  said 
Joe,  but  not  without  a  little  color  in  his  cheeks  when  he 
remembered  how  hot  and  small  Ollie's  hand  had  felt  within 
his  own. 

"When  did  you  first  see  this?"  asked  the  coroner,  holding 
up  the  sack  with  the  burst  corner  which  had  lain  on  Isom's 
breast. 

The  ruptured  corner  had  been  tied  with  a  string,  and  the 
sack  bulged  heavily  in  the  coroner's  hand. 

"  When  Isom  was  l}7ing  on  the  floor  after  he  was  shot," 
said  Joe. 

A  movement  of  feet  was  audible  through  the  room.  People 
looked  at  each  other,  incredulity  in  their  eyes.  The  coroner 


142 Tlie  Bondbo?/ 

returned  to  the  incidents  which  led  up  to  the  shooting, 
snapping  back  to  that  phase  of  the  inquiry  suddenly,  as  if 
in  the  expectation  of  catching  Joe  off  his  guard. 

"What  did  he  threaten  to  kill  you  for?  "  he  asked  sharplv. 

"  Well,  Isoin  was  an  unreasonable  and  quick-tempered 
man,"  Joe  replied. 

The  coroner  rose  to  his  feet  in  a  quick  start,  as  if  lie 
intended  to  leap  over  the  table.  He  pointed  his  finger  at 
Joe,  shaking  his  somber  beard. 

"  What  did  Isom  Chase  catch  you  at  when  he  came  into 
that  kitchen?"  he  asked  accusingly. 

"lie  saw  me  standing  there,  just  about  to  blow  out  the 
light  and  go  to  bed,"  said  Joe. 

"What  dkl  you  and  Isom  quarrel  about  last  night?" 

Joe  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  seemed  debating  with  him 
self  over  the  advisability  of  answering  at  all.  Then  he  raised 
his  slow  eyes  to  the  coroner's  face. 

"  That  was  between  him  and  me,"  said  he. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  coroner  shortly,  resuming  his  seat. 
'*  You  may  tell  the  jury  how  Isom  Chase  was  shot." 

Joe  described  Isom's  leap  for  the  gun,  the  struggle  he 
had  with  him  to  restrain  him,  the  catching  of  the  lock  in  the 
fork  as  Isom  tugged  at  the  barrel,  the  shot,  and  Isom's 
death. 

When  he  finished,  the  coroner  bent  over  his  note-book  again, 
as  if  little  interested  and  less  impressed.  Silence  fell  over 
the  room.  Then  the  coroner  spoke,  his  head  still  bent  over 
the  book,  not  even  turning  his  face  toward  the  witness,  his 
voice  soft  and  low. 

"You  were  alone  with  Isom  in  the  kitchen  when  this 
happened?  " 

A  flash  of  heat  ran  over  Ollie's  body.  After  it  came  a 
sweeping  wave  of  cold.  The  room  whirled;  the  world  stood 
on  edge.  Her  hour  had  struck;  the  last  moment  of  her 


Will  He  Tell? 143 

troubled  security  was  speeding  away.  What  would  Joe 
answer  to  that? 

"  Yes,"  said  Joe  calmly,  "  we  were  alone." 

Ollie  breathed  again ;  her  heart's  constriction  relaxed. 

The  coroner  wheeled  on  Joe. 

"Where  was  Mrs.  Chase?"  he  asked. 

A  little  murmur,  as  of  people  drawing  together  with 
whispers;  a  little  soft  scuffing  of  cautiously  shifted  feet  on 
the  carpet,  followed  the  question.  Ollie  shrank  back,  as  if 
wincing  from  pain. 

"  Mrs.  Chase  was  upstairs  in  her  room,"  answered  Joe. 

The  weight  of  a  thousand  centuries  lifted  from  Ollie's 
body.  Her  vision  cleared.  Her  breath  came  back  in 
measured  flow  to  her  lips,  moist  and  refreshing. 

He  had  not  told.  He  was  standing  between  her  and  the 
sharp  tongues  of  those  waiting  people,  already  licking 
hungrily  in  their  awakened  suspicion,  ready  to  sear  her  fair 
name  like  flames.  But  there  was  no  gratitude  in  her  heart 
that  moment,  no  quick  lifting  of  thankfulness  nor  under 
standing  of  the  great  peril  which  Joe  had  assumed  for  her. 
There  was  only  relief,  blessed,  easing,  cool  relief.  He  had  not 
told. 

But  the  coroner  was  a  persistent  man.  He  was  making 
more  than  an  investigation  out  of  it ;  he  was  fairly  turning 
it  into  a  trial,  with  Joe  as  the  defendant.  The  people  were 
ready  to  see  that,  and  appreciate  his  attempts  to  uncover 
the  dark  motive  that  lay  behind  this  deed,  of  which  they  were 
convinced,  almost  to  a  man,  that  Joe  was  guilty. 

"  Was  Isom  jealous  of  you?  "  asked  the  coroner,  beginning 
the  assault  on  Joe's  reserve  suddenly  again  when  it  seemed 
that  he  was  through.  For  the  first  time  during  the  inquiry 
Joe's  voice  was  unsteady  when  he  replied. 

"  He  had  no  cause  to  be,  and  you've  got  no  right  to  ask 
me  that,  either,  sir ! "  he  said. 


144  The  liondbo?/ 


"  Shame  on  YOU,  shame  on  you ! "  said  Mrs.  Newbolt,  lean 
ing  toward  the  coroner,  shaking  her  head  reprovingly. 

"I've  got  the  right  to  ask  you  anything  that  I  sec  fit  and 
proper,  young  man,"  the  coroner  rebuked  him  sternly. 

"Well,  maybe  you  have,"  granted  Joe,  drawing  himself 
straight  in  the  chair. 

"Did  Isom  Chase  ever  find  you  alone  with  his  wife?''  the 
coroner  asked. 

"  \o\v  you  look  here,  sir,  if  you'll  ask  me  questions  that  a 
gentleman  ought  to  ask,  I'll  answer  you  like  a  gentleman, 
but  I'll  never  answer  such  questions  as  that!" 

There  was  a  certain  polite  deference  in  Joe's  voice,  which 
he  felt  that  he  owed,  perhaps,  to  the  office  that  the  man 
represented,  but  there  was  a  firmness  above  it  all  that  was 
unmistakable. 

"  You  refuse  to  answer  any  more  questions,  then?"  said  the 
coroner  slowly,  and  with  a  significance  that  was  almost 
sinister. 

"I'll  answer  anv  proper  questions  you  care  to  ask  me," 
answered  Joe. 

''Very  well,  then.  You  say  that  you  and  Isom  quarreled 
last  night?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  we  had  a  little  spat." 

"A  little  spat,"  repeated  the  coroner,  looking  around  the 
room  as  if  to  ask  the  people  on  whose  votes  he  depended  for 
reelection  what  they  thought  of  a  "little  spat"  which  ended 
in  a  man's  death.  There  was  a  sort  of  broad  humor  about 
it  which  appealed  to  the  blunt  rural  sense.  A  grin  ran  over 
their  faces  like  a  spreading  wavelet  on  a  pool.  "Well  now. 
what  was  the  beginning  of  that  'little  spat  '?  " 

"Oh,  what's  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  asked  Joe  im 
patiently.  "You  asked  me  that  before." 

"  And  I'm  asking  you  again.  What  was  that  quarrel 
over  ?  " 


Will  He  Tell?  145 


"  None  of  your  business ! "  said  Joe  hotly,  caring  nothing 
for  consequences. 

u  Then  you  refuse  to  answer,  and  persist  in  your  refusal?" 

"  Well,  we  don't  seem  to  get  on  very  well,"  said  Joe. 

"  Xo,  we  don't,"  the  coroner  agreed  snappishly.  "  Stand 
down;  that  will  be  all." 

The  listening  people  shifted  and  relaxed,  leaned  and  whis 
pered,  turning  quick  eyes  upon  Joe,  studying  him  with  furtive 
wonder,  as  if  they  had  discovered  in  him  some  fearful  and 
hideous  thing,  which  he,  moving  among  them  all  his  life, 
had  kept  concealed  until  that  day. 

Ollie  followed  him  in  the  witness-chair.  She  related  her 
story,  framed  on  the  cue  that  she  had  taken  from  Greening's 
testimony  and  Joe's  substantiation  of  it,  in  low,  trembling 
voice,  and  with  eyes  downcast.  She  knew  nothing  about  the 
tragedy  until  Sol  called  up  to  her,  she  said,  and  then  she 
was  in  ignorance  of  what  had  happened.  Mrs.  Greening 
had  told  her  when  she  came  that  Isom  was  killed. 

Ollie  was  asked  about  the  book-agent  boarder,  as  Greening 
had  been  asked.  Morgan  had  left  on  the  morning  of  the 
fateful  day,  she  said,  having  finished  his  work  in  that  part 
of  the  country.  She  and  Joe  were  alone  in  the  house  that 
nig]  it. 

The  coroner  spared  her,  no  matter  how  far  his  sharp 
suspicions  flashed  into  the  obscurity  of  the  relations  between 
herself  and  the  young  bondman.  The  people,  especially  the 
women,  approved  his  leniency  with  nods.  Her  testimony 
concluded  the  inquiry,  and  the  coroner  addressed  the  jury. 

'"  Gentlemen,"  lie  said,  "  you  will  take  into  consideration 
the  evidence  vou  have  heard,  and  determine,  if  possible,  the 
manner  in  which  Isom  Chase  came  to  his  death,  and  fix  the 
responsibility  for  the  same.  It  is  within  your  power  to 
recommend  that  any  person  believed  by  you  to  be  directly  or 
indirectly  responsible  for  his  death,  be  held  to  the  grand 


14<>  The  Bondboy 


jury  for  further  investigation.  Gentlemen,  you  will  now 
view  the  body." 

Alive,  Isom  Chase  had  walked  in  the  secret  derision  and 
contempt  of  his  neighbors,  despised  for  his  parsimony,  ridi 
culed  for  his  manner  of  life.  Dead,  lie  had  become  an  object 
of  awe  which  they  approached  softlv  and  with  fear. 

Isom  lay  upon  his  own  cellar  door,  taken  down  from  its 
hinges  to  make  him  a  couch.  It  stood  over  against  the 
kitchen  wall,  a  chair  supporting  it  at  either  end,  and  Isom 
stretched  upon  it  covered  over  with  a  sheet.  The  coroner 
drew  back  the  covering,  revealing  the  face  of  the  dead,  and 
the  jurymen,  hats  in  hand,  looked  over  each  other's  shoulders 
and  then  backed  away. 

For  Isom  was  no  handsomer  as  a  corpse  than  he  had  been 
as  a  living,  striving  man.  The  hard,  worn  iron  of  his  frame 
was  there,  like  an  old  plowshare,  useless  now,  no  matter  what 
furrows  it  had  turned  in  its  dav.  The  harsh  speech  was 
gone  out  of  his  crabbed  lips,  but  the  scowl  which  delinquent 
debtors  feared  stood  fro/en  upon  his  brow.  lie  had  died  with 
gold  above  his  heart,  as  he  had  lived  with  the  thought  of 
that  bright  metal  crowding  every  human  sentiment  out  of 
it,  and  the  mvsterv  of  those  glittering  pieces  under  his  dead 
hand  was  unexplained. 

Somebody,  it  appeared,  had  sinned  against  old  Isom  Chase 
at  the  end,  and  Joe  Xewbolt  knew  who  that  person  was. 
Here  he  had  stood  before  them  all  and  lifted  up  a  wall  of 
stubborn  silence  to  shield  the  guilty  head,  and  there  was  no 
doubt  that  it  was  his  own. 

That  also  was  the  opinion  of  the  coroner's  jury,  which 
walked  out  from  its  deliberations  in  the  kitchen  in  a  little 
while  and  gave  as  its  verdict  that  Isom  Chase  had  come  to 
his  death  by  a  gunshot  wound,  inflicted  at  the  hands  of 
Joseph  Xewbolt.  The  jury  recommended  that  the  accused 
be  held  to  the  grand  jurv,  for  indictment  or  dismissal. 


Will  He  Tell?  147 


Mrs.  Newbolt  did  not  understand  fully  what  was  going- 
forward,  but  she  gathered  that  the  verdict  of  the  neighbors 
was  unfriendly  to  Joe.  She  sat  looking  from  the  coroner 
to  Joe,  from  Joe  to  the  jurors,  lined  up  with  backs  against 
the  wall,  as  solemn  and  nervous  as  if  waiting  for  a  firing 
squad  to  appear  and  take  aim  at  their  patriotic  breasts.  She 
stood  up  in  her  bewilderment,  and  looked  with  puzzled,  dazed 
expression  around  the  room. 

"Joe  didn't  do  it,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  said  she. 

"Madam — "  began  the  coroner  severely. 

"  Yes,  you  little  whiffet,"  she  burst  out  sharply,  "  you're 
the  one  that  put  'em  up  to  do  it!  Joe  didn't  do  it,  I  tell 
you,  and  you  men  know  that  as  well  as  I  do.  Every  one  of 
you  has  knowed  him  all  his  life ! " 

"  Madam,  I  must  ask  you  not  to  interrupt  the  proceed 
ings,"  said  the  coroner. 

"  Order  in  the  court ! "  commanded  the  constable  in  his 
deepest  official  voice. 

"  Oh,  shut  your  fool  mouth,  Bill  Frost ! "  said  Mrs.  New- 
bolt  scornfully. 

"  Never  mind,  Mother,"  counseled  Joe.  "  I'll  be  all  right. 
They  have  to  do  what  they're  doing,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  they're  doin'  what  that  little  snip-snapper  with  them 
colored  whiskers  tells  'em  to  do !  "  said  she. 

Solemn  as  the  occasion  was,  a  grin  went  round  at  the  bald 
reference  to  a  plainer  fact.  Even  the  dullest  there  had  seen 
the  grayish-red  at  the  roots  of  the  coroner's  beard.  The 
coroner  grew  very  red  of  face,  and  gave  some  orders  to  his 
stenographer,  who  wrote  them  down.  lie  thanked  the  jurors 
and  dismissed  them.  Bill  Frost  began  to  prepare  for  the 
journey  to  Shelby ville  to  turn  Joe  over  to  the  sheriff. 

The  first,  and  most  important,  thing  in  the  list  of  pre 
liminaries  for  the  journey,  was  the  proper  adjustment  of 
Bill's  mustache.  Bill  reached  it  up  with  a  turn  of  the  fore- 


148 The  Bondboy 

finder,  vising  the  hack  of  it,  which  was  rough,  like  a  corn-cob. 
AVlicn  he  hatl  got  the  ends  elevated  at  a  valiant  angle,  his  hat 
firmly  settled  upon  his  head,  and  his  suspenders  tightened 
two  inches,  he  touched  Joe's  shoulder. 

"Come  on!"  he  ordered  as  gruffly  and  formally  as  he 
could  draw  his  edged  voice. 

Joe  stood,  and  Hill  put  his  hand  on  his  arm  to  pilot  him, 
in  all  officiousness,  out  of  the  room.  Mrs.  Xewbolt  stepped 
in  front  of  them  as  they  approached. 

'"Joe!"  she  cried  appealingly. 

"  That's  all  right,  Mother,*'  he  comforted  her,  "everything 
will  be  cleared  up  and  settled  in  a  day  or  two.  You  go  on 
home  now.  Mother,  and  look  after  things  till  I  come." 

"Step  out  of  the  way,  step  out  of  the  way!"  said  Hill 
with  spreading  impatience. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  looked  at  the  blustering  official  pityingly. 

'k  Hill  Frost,  you  ain't  got  as  much  sense  as  you  was  born 
with!"  said  she.  She  patted  Joe's  shoulder,  which  was  as 
near  an  approach  to  tenderness  as  he  ever  remembered  her 
to  make. 

Constable  Frost  fell  into  consultation  with  his  adjutant, 
Sol  Greening,  as  soon  as  he  cleared  the  room  with  the 
prisoner.  They  discussed  gravely  in  the  prisoner's  hearing, 
for  Hill  kept  his  hand  on  Joe's  arm  all  the  time,  the  advisa 
bility  of  tying  him  securely  with  a  rope  before  starting  on 
the  journey  to  jail. 

Joe  grew  indignant  over  this  base  proposal.  He  declared 
that  if  Hill  was  afraid  of  him  he  would  go  alone  to  the 
county-seat  and  give  himself  up  to  the  sheriff  if  they  would 
set  him  free.  Hill  was  a  little  assured  by  his  prisoner's  evi 
dent  sincerity. 

Another  consultation  brought  them  to  the  agreement  that 
the  best  they  could  do,  in  the  absence  of  handcuffs,  was  to 
hitch  up  to  Isom's  buggy  and  make  the  prisoner  drive.  With 


Will  He  Tell?  149 


hands  employed  on  the  lines,  he  could  be  watched  narrowly 
by  Bill  who  was  to  take  Sol's  old  navy  six  along  in  his 
mighty  hand. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  viewed  the  officious  constable's  preparations 
for  the  journey  with  many  expressions  of  anger  and  disdain. 

"Just  look  at  that  old  fool,  Bill  Frost,  with  that  re 
volver  ! "  said  she,  turning  to  the  neighbors,  who  stood 
silently  watching.  "Just  as  if  Joe  would  hurt  anybody,  or 
try  to  run  away !  " 

Sympathy  seemed  to  be  lacking  in  the  crowd.  Everybody 
was  against  Joe,  that  was  attested  by  the  glum  faces  and 
silence  which  met  her  on  every  hand.  She  was  amazed  at 
their  stupidity.  There  they  stood,  people  who  had  seen 
Joe  grow  up,  people  who  knew  that  a  Newbolt  would  give 
his  last  cent  and  go  hungry  to  meet  an  obligation ;  that  he 
would  wear  rags  to  pay  his  debts,  as  Peter  had  done,  as 
Joe  was  doing  after  him ;  that  he  would  work  and  strive 
night  and  day  to  keep  fair  his  honorable  name,  and  to  pre 
serve  the  honest  record  of  the  family  clear  and  clean. 

They  all  knew  that,  and  they  knew  that  a  Newbolt  never 
lied,  but  they  hunched  their  backs  and  turned  away  their 
heads  as  if  they  thought  a  body  was  going  to  hit  them  when 
she  spoke.  It  disgusted  her;  she  felt  like  she  could  turn 
loose  on  some  of  them  with  their  own  records,  which  she 
had  from  a  generation  back. 

She  approached  the  buggy  as  Joe  took  up  the  lines  and 
prepared  to  drive  out  of  the  gate. 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  think  you  done  it,  son,  it's  so  un 
reasonable  and  unneighborly  of  them,"  said  she. 

"  Neighborly  ! "  said  Joe,  with  sudden  bitterness  in  his 
young  voice.  "What  am  I  to  them  but  'the  pore  folks'  boy'? 
They  didn't  believe  me,  Mother,  but  when  I  get  a  chance  to 
stand  up  before  Judge  Maxwell  over  at  Shelbyville,  I'll  be 
talking  to  a  gentleman.  A  gentleman  will  understand." 


1.50  The  Bondboy 


That  sounded  like  his  father,  she  thought.  It  moved  her 
with  a  feeling  of  the  pride  which  she  had  reflected  feebly  for 
so  many  years. 

"  I  hope  so,  son,"  said  she.  "  If  you're  not  back  in  a  day 
or  two,  I'll  be  over  to  Shelbyville." 

"Drive  on,  drive  on!"  ordered  Bill,  the  old  black  revolver 
in  his  hand. 

The  crowd  was  impressed  by  that  weapon,  knowing  its 
history,  as  everybody  did.  Greening's  more  or  less  honorable 
father  had  carried  it  with  him  when  he  rode  in  the  train  of 
Quantrell,  the  infamous  bushwhacker.  It  was  the  old  man's 
boast  to  his  dying  day  that  he  had  exterminated  a  family  of 
father  and  five  sons  in  the  raid  upon  Lawrence  with  that 
old  weapon,  without  recharging  it. 

Joe  drove  through  the  open  gate  without  a  look  behind 
him.  His  face  Avas  pale,  his  heart  was  sick  with  the  humilia 
tion  of  that  day.  But  he  felt  that  it  was  only  a  temporary 
cloud  into  which  he  had  stepped,  and  that  clearing  would 
come  again  in  a  little  while.  It  was  inconceivable  to  him 
how  anybody  could  be  so  foolish  as  to  believe,  or  even  sus 
pect,  that  lie  had  murdered  Isom  Chase. 

The  assembled  people  having  heard  all  there  was  to  hear, 
and  seen  all  there  was  to  see  at  the  gate,  began  to  straggle 
back  to  the  farmhouse  to  gossip,  to  gape,  and  exclaim.  To 
Greening  and  his  family  had  fallen  the  office  of  comforting 
the  widow  and  arranging  for  the  burial,  and  now  Sol  had 
many  offers  to  sit  up  with  the  corpse  that  night. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  stood  at  the  roadside,  looking  after  the  con 
veyance  which  was  taking  her  son  away  to  jail,  until  a  bend 
behind  a  tall  hedge  hid  it  from  her  eyes.  She  made  no  further 
attempt  to  find  sympathy  or  support  among  her  neighbors, 
who  looked  at  her  curiously  as  she  stood  there,  and  turned 
away  selfishly  when  she  faced  them. 

Back  over  the  road  that  she  had  hurried  along  that  morn- 


Will  He  Tell?  151 


ing  she  trudged,  slowly  and  without  spirit,  her  feet  like 
stones.  As  she  went,  she  tried  to  arrange  the  day's  happen 
ings  in  her  mind.  All  was  confusion  there.  The  one  plain 
thing,  the  thing  that  persisted  and  obtruded,  was  that  they 
had  arrested  Joe  on  a  charge  that  was  at  once  hideous  and 
unjust. 

Evening  was  falling  when  she  reached  the  turn  of  the  road 
and  looked  ahead  to  her  home.  She  had  no  heart  for  supper, 
no  heart  to  lift  the  latch  of  the  kitchen  door  and  enter  there. 
There  was  no  desire  in  her  heart  but  for  her  son,  and  no 
comfort  in  the  prospect  of  her  oncoming  night. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    SEALED    ENVELOPE 

IX  THE  light  of  Joe's  reluctant  testimony  and  his  strange, 
stubborn,  and  stift'-necked  refusal  to  go  into  the  matter 
of  the  quarrel  between  himself  and  Isom ;  the  unexplained 
mystery  of  the  money  which  had  been  found  in  the  burst  bag 
on  Isom's  breast  ;  and  Joe's  declaration  that  he  had  not  seen 
it  until  Isom  fell :  in  the  light  of  all  this,  the  people  of  that 
community  believed  the  verdict  of  the  coroner's  jurv  to  be 
just. 

This  refusal  of  Joe's  to  talk  out  and  explain  everything 
was  a  display  of  the  threadbare  Xewbolt  dignity,  people  said, 
an  exhibition  of  which  they  had  not  seen  since  old  Peter's 
death.  Hut  it  looked  more  like  bull-hcadedness  to  them. 

"Don't  the  darned  fool  know  he's  pokin'  his  head  under 
the  gallus?"  they  asked. 

What  was  the  trouble  between  him  and  Isom  about?  What 
was  he  doin'  there  in  the  kitchen  with  the  lamp  lit  that  hour 
of  the  night?    Where  did  that  there  money  come  from,  gentle 
men?     That's  what  I  want  you  to  tell  me! 

Those  were  the  questions  which  were  being  asked,  man  to 
man,  group  to  group,  and  which  nobody  could  answer,  as 
thev  stood  discussing  it  after  Joe  had  been  taken  away  to 
jail.  The  coroner  mingled  with  them,  giving  them  the  weight 
of  his  experience. 

"That  Xewbolt's  deeper  than  lie  looks  on  the  outside, 
gentlemen,"  he  said,  shaking  his  serious  whiskers.  "  There's 
a  lot  more  behind  this  case  than  we  can  see.  Old  Isom  Chase 
was  murdered,  and  that  murder  was  planned  away  ahead. 
It's  been  a  long  time  since  I've  seen  anybody  on  the  witness- 

152 


The  Scaled  Envelope 1.58 

stand  as  shrewd  and  sharp  as  that  Newbolt  boy.  He  knew 
just  what  to  so  say  and  just  what  to  shut  his  jaws  on.  But 
we'll  fetch  it  out  of  him  —  or  somebody  else." 

As  men  went  home  to  take  up  their  neglected  tasks,  they 
talked  it  all  over.  They  wrondered  what  Joe  would  have  done 
with  that  money  if  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  away  with  it ; 
whether  he  would  have  made  it  out  of  the  country,  or 
whether  the  invincible  Bill  Frost,  keen  on  his  scent  as  a  fox 
hound,  would  have  pursued  him  and  brought  him  back. 

They  wondered  how  high  they  built  the  gallows  to  hang 
a  man,  and  discussed  the  probability  of  the  event  being  public. 
They  speculated  on  the  manner  in  which  Joe  would  go  to  his 
death,  whether  boldly,  with  his  head  up  that  way,  or  cringing 
and  afraid,  his  proud  heart  and  spirit  broken,  and  whether 
he  would  confess  at  the  end  or  carry  his  secret  with  him  to 
the  grave.  Then  they  branched  off  into  discussions  of  the 
pain  of  hanging,  and  wondered  whether  it  was  a  "  more 
horribler  "  death  than  drowning  or  burning  in  a  hay-stack, 
or  from  eating  pounded  glass. 

It  was  a  great,  moving,  awakening  sensation  in  the  country 
side,  that  taking  off  of  Isom  Chase  by  a  mysterious  midnight 
shot.  It  pulled  people  up  out  of  the  drowse  of  a  generation, 
and  set  them  talking  as  they  had  not  talked  in  twenty  years. 
Their  sluggish  brains  were  heated  by  it,  their  sleeping  hearts 
quickened. 

People  were  of  the  undivided  opinion  that  Isom  had  caught 
Joe  robbing  him,  and  that  Joe  had  shot  him  in  the  fear  of 
punishment  for  the  theft.  Perhaps  it  is  because  chivalry  is 
such  a  rare  quality  among  the  business  activities  of  this  life, 
that  none  of  them  believed  he  was  shielding  Isom's  wife,  and 
that  he  was  innocent  of  any  wrong  himself.  They  did  not  ap 
prove  the  attempt  of  the  coroner  to  drag  her  into  it.  The 
shrewd  insight  of  the  little  man  cost  him  a  good  many  votes 
that  day. 


154 The   llondboy 

•Joe  Newbolt  could  very  well  be  a  robber,  tliev  said,  lOr 
all  his  life  had  prepared  him  for  a  fall  before  the  temptation 
of  money.  He  could  very  well  be  a  robber,  indeed,  and  tin  i" 
was  no  room  for  him  to  turn  out  anything  nobler,  for  wasn't 
he  the  pore  folks'  boy? 

Ollie  was  almost  as  short  in  her  realization  of  what  Joe 
bud  done  for  her  as  those  who  knew  nothing  at  all  of  his 
motive  of  silence.  In  the  relief  of  her  escape  from  public 
disclosure  of  her  intrigue  with  Morgan,  she  enjoyed  a  luxuri 
ous  relaxation.  It  was  like  sleep  after  long  watching. 

She  did  not  understand  the  peril  in  which  Joe  stood  on  her 
nccount,  nor  consider  that  the  future  still  held  for  both  of 
them  a  trial  which  would  test  Joe's  strength  as  the  corrosive 
tooth  of  acid  challenges  the  purity  of  gold.  It  was  enough 
for  her  that  sunny  afternoon,  and  sufficient  to  her  shallow 
soul,  to  know  that  she  was  safe.  She  lay  warm  and  restful 
in  her  bed  while  the  neighbor  women  set  the  house  to  rights, 
and  the  men  moved  Isom's  body  into  the  parlor  to  wait  for 
the  coffin  which  Sol  Greening  had  gone  after  to  the  county- 
*eat. 

Ollie  watched  the  little  warm  white  clouds  against  the  blue 
of  the  October  sky,  and  thought  of  the  fleecy  soft  things 
which  a  mother  loves  to  swaddle  her  baby  in;  she  watched 
the  shadow  of  falling  leaves  upon  the  floor,  blowing  past  her 
window  on  the  slant  sunbeams. 

She  was  safe ! 

Joe  was  accused,  but  she  seemed  to  hold  that  a  trivial 
incident  in  an  exciting  day.  It  would  pass;  he  would  clear 
himself,  as  he  deserved  to  be  cleared,  and  then,  when  Morgan 
came  back  for  her  and  carried  her  away  into  his  world, 
everything  would  be  in  tune. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  she  knew  that  Joe  was  innocent 
that  his  accusation  appeared  so  untenable  and  trivial  to  her. 
At  any  rate,  the  lawyers  over  at  Shelbyville  —  wasn't  their 


The  Sealed  Envelope  155 

cunning  known  around  the  world  —  could  get  him  off.  If  it 
came  to  that,  she  would  see  that  he  had  a  good  one,  as  good 
as  money  could  employ.  Joe  had  stood  by  her ;  she  would 
stand  by  Joe.  That  was  the  extent  of  her  concern  that  after 
noon. 

It  was  pleasant  to  stretch  there  in  peace,  with  no  task 
before  her,  no  rude  summons  to  arise  and  work.  Isom  would 
call  her  no  more  at  dawn ;  his  voice  would  be  silent  in  that 
house  forever  more.  There  was  no  regret  in  the  thought, 
no  pang,  no  pain. 

As  one  lives  his  life,  so  he  must  be  pitied  in  death.  Soft 
deeds  father  soft  memories.  There  never  was  but  one  man 
who  rose  with  the  recollection  of  pleasant  dreams  from 
pillowing  his  head  upon  a  stone,  and  that  man  was  under  the 
hand  of  God.  Isom  Chase  had  planted  bitterness ;  his  mem 
ory  was  gall. 

She  was  safe,  and  she  was  free.  She  had  come  into  her 
expectations;  the  pre-nuptial  dreams  of  enjoying  Isom 
Chase's  wealth  were  suddenly  at  hand. 

Together  with  the  old  rifle  and  Isom's  blood-stained  gar 
ments,  the  coroner  had  taken  away  the  little  bag  of  gold,  to 
be  used  as  evidence,  he  said.  He  had  taken  the  money,  just 
as  it  was  in  the  little  sack,  a  smear  of  blood  on  it,  after 
counting  it  before  witnesses  and  giving  her  a  receipt  for  the 
amount.  Two  thousand  dollars ;  one  hundred  pieces  of 
twenty  dollars  each.  That  was  the  tale  of  the  contents  of 
the  canvas  bag  which  had  lain  grinning  on  Isom's  pulseless 
heart.  It  was  not  a  great  amount  of  money,  considering 
Isom's  faculty  for  gaining  and  holding  it.  It  was  the  gen 
eral  belief  that  he  had  ten,  twenty,  times  that  amount,  be 
sides  his  loans,  hidden  away,  and  the  secret  of  his  hiding- 
place  had  gone  out  of  the  world  with  Isom. 

Others  said  that  he  had  put  his  money  into  lands,  pointing 
to  the  many  farms  which  he  owned  and  rented  in  the  county. 


156  The  Bondboy 


But  be  that  as  it  might,  there  was  Ollie,  young  and  hand 
some,  well  paid  for  her  hard  year  as  Isom's  wife,  free  now, 
and  doubtless  already  willing  at  heart  to  make  some  young 
man  happy.  Nobody  blamed  her  for  that. 

It  was  well  known  that  Isom  had  abused  her,  that  her  life 
had  been  cheerless  and  lonely  under  his  roof.  Those  who  did 
not  know  it  from  first-hand  facts  believed  it  on  the  general 
notoriety  of  the  man.  Contact  with  Isom  Chase  had  been 
like  sleeping  on  a  corn-husk  bed;  there  was  no  comfort  in  it, 
no  matter  which  way  one  turned. 

Ollie,  her  eyes  closed  languidly,  now  languidly  opened  to 
follow  the  track  of  the  lamb-fleece  clouds,  her  young  body 
feeling  warm  and  pleasant,  as  if  lately  released  from  a  sorely 
cramped  state;  Ollie,  with  little  fleeting  dreams  in  her  pretty, 
shallow  head,  was  believed  by  the  women  of  the  neighborhood 
to  be  in  the  way  of  realizing  on  Isom's  expectations  of  an 
heir.  It  was  a  little  fiction  that  had  taken  its  beginning  from 
Sol  Greening's  early  talk,  and  owing  to  that  rumor  the 
coroner  had  been  gentle  with  her  beyond  the  inclination  of 
his  heart. 

The  young  widow  smiled  as  she  lay  on  her  pillow  and 
thought  of  the  little  intimate  touches  of  tenderness  which 
this  baseless  rumor  had  made  her  the  beneficiary  of  at  her 
neighbor's  hands.  She  was  selfish  enough  to  take  advantage 
of  their  mistaken  kindnesses  and  to  surrender  to  their  vigor 
ous  elbows  the  work  below  stairs.  That  was  her  day  of 
freedom;  it  was  her  dawn  of  peace. 

It  was  pleasant  to  have  come  through  stress  and  hardship 
to  this  restful  eddy  in  the  storm  of  life;  to  have  faced  peril 
and  disgrace  and  come  away  still  clean  in  the  eyes  of  mi  n. 
Ollie  was  content  with  things  as  they  were,  as  the  evening 
shadows  closed  the  door  upon  the  events  of  that  trying  d.-'.y. 

Quite  different  was  the  case  of  Sarah  Xewbolt,  once  more 
back  in  her  poor  shelter,  nested  in  bramble  and  clambering 


The  Sealed  Envelope  157 

vine.  She  was  dazed,  the  song  was  gone  out  of  her  heart. 
She  was  bereaved,  and  her  lips  were  moving  in  endless  repe 
tition  of  supplication  to  the  Almighty  for  the  safety  and 
restoration  of  her  son. 

What  was  this  grim  thing  of  which  they  had  accused  her 
Joe?  She  could  not  yet  get  to  the  bottom  of  it,  she  could 
not  understand  how  men  could  be  so  warped  and  blind.  Why, 
Joe  had  told  them  how  it  happened,  he  had  explained  it  as 
clear  as  well  water,  but  they  didn't  believe  him.  She  went 
out  and  sat  on  the  porch  to  think  it  out,  if  possible,  and 
come  to  some  way  of  helping  Joe.  There  was  not  a  friend 
to  turn  to,  not  a  counselor  to  lean  upon. 

She  never  had  felt  it  lonely  in  the  old  place  before,  for 
there  was  companionship  even  in  the  memory  of  her  dead, 
but  this  evening  as  she  sat  on  the  porch,  the  familiar  objects 
in  the  yard  growing  dim  through  the  oncoming  night,  the 
hollowness  of  desolation  was  there.  Joe  was  in  prison.  The 
neighbors  had  refused  to  believe  the  word  of  her  boy.  There 
was  nobody  to  help  him  but  her.  The  hand  of  everybody 
else  was  against  him.  She  had  delivered  him  into  bondage 
and  brought  this  trouble  to  him,  and  now  she  must  stir  her 
self  to  set  him  free. 

"  It's  all  my  own  doin's,"  said  she  in  unsparing  reproach. 
"  My  chickens  has  come  to  roost." 

After  nightfall  she  went  into  the  kitchen  where  she  sat  a 
dreary  while  before  her  stove,  leaning  forward  in  her  un 
lovely,  ruminating  pose.  Through  the  open  draft  of  the 
stove  the  red  coals  within  it  glowed,  casting  three  little  bars 
of  light  upon  the  floor.  Now  and  then  a  stick  burned  in 
two  and  settled  down,  showering  sparks  through  the  grate. 
These  little  flashes  lit  up  her  brown  and  somber  face,  and 
discovered  the  slow  tears  upon  her  weathered  cheeks.  For  a 
long  time  she  sat  thus,  then  at  last  she  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  around  the  room.  Her  table  stood  as  she  had  left 


158  The  Bondboy 


it  in  the  morning,  no  food  had  passed  her  lips  since  then. 
But  the  frantic  turmoil  of  the  first  hours  after  Joe  had  heen 
led  away  to  jail  had  quieted. 

A  plan  of  action  had  shaped  itself  in  her  mind.  In  the 
morning  she  would  go  to  Shelbyville  and  seek  her  husband's 
old  friend,  Colonel  Henry  Price,  to  solicit  his  advice  and 
assistance.  In  a  manner  comforted  by  this  resolution,  she 
prepared  herself  a  pot  of  coffee  and  some  food.  After  the 
loneliest  and  most  hopeless  meal  that  she  ever  had  eaten  in 
her  life,  she  went  to  bed. 

In  the  house  of  Isom  Chase,  where  neighbors  sat  to  watch 
the  night  out  beside  the  shrouded  body,  there  was  a  waste 
of  oil  in  many  lamps,  such  an  illumination  that  it  seemed  a 
wonder  that  old  Isom  did  not  rise  up  from  his  gory  bed  to 
turn  down  the  wicks  and  speak  reproof.  Everybody  must 
have  a  light.  If  an  errand  for  the  living  or  a  service  for  the 
dead  called  one  from  this  room  to  that,  there  must  be  a  light. 
That  was  a  place  of  tragic  mystery,  a  place  of  violence  and 
death.  If  light  had  been  lacking  there  on  the  deeds  of  Isom 
Chase,  on  his  hoardings  and  hidings  away;  on  the  hour  of  his 
death  and  the  mystery  of  it,  then  all  this  must  be  balanced 
tonight  by  gleams  in  every  window,  beams  through  every 
crevice;  lamps  here,  lanterns  there,  candles  in  cupboards, 
cellar,  and  nook. 

Let  there  be  light  in  the  house  of  Isom  Chase,  and  in  the 
sharp  espionage  of  curious  eyes,  for  dark  days  hang  over  it, 
and  the  young  widow  who  draws  the  pity  of  all  because  she 
cannot  weep. 

No  matter  how  hard  a  woman's  life  with  a  man  has  been, 
when  he  dies  she  is  expected  to  mourn.  That  was  the  standard 
of  fealty  and  respect  in  the  neighborhood  of  Isom  Chase,  as 
it  is  in  more  enlightened  communities  in  other  parts  of  the 
world.  A  woman  should  weep  for  her  man,  no  matter  what 
bruises  on  body  his  heavy  hand  may  leave  behind  him,  or 


The  Sealed  Envelope  159 

what  scars  in  the  heart  which  no  storm  of  tears  can  wash 
away.  Custom  has  made  hypocrites  of  the  ladies  in  this 
matter  the  wide  world  through.  Let  no  man,  therefore, 
lying  bloodless  and  repellent  upon  his  cooling-board,  gather 
comfort  to  his  cold  heart  when  his  widow's  tears  fall  upon 
his  face.  For  she  may  be  weeping  more  for  what  might  have 
been  than  was. 

Isom  Chase's  widow  could  not  weep  at  all.  That  was 
what  they  said  of  her,  and  their  pity  was  more  tender,  their 
compassion  more  sweet.  Dry  grief,  they  said.  And  that  is 
grief  like  a  covered  fire,  which  smolders  in  the  heart  and 
chars  the  foundations  of  life.  She  ought  to  be  crying,  to 
clear  her  mind  and  purge  herself  of  the  dregs  of  sorrow, 
which  would  settle  and  corrode  unless  flushed  out  by  tears ; 
she  ought  to  get  rid  of  it  at  once,  like  any  other  widow, 
and  settle  down  to  the  enjoyment  of  all  the  property. 

The  women  around  Ollie  in  her  room  tried  to  provoke  her 
tears  by  reference  to  Isom's  good  qualities,  his  widely  known 
honesty,  his  ceaseless  striving  to  lay  up  property  which  he 
knew  he  couldn't  take  with  him,  which  he  realized  that  his 
young  wife  would  live  long  years  after  him  to  enjoy.  They 
glozed  his  faults  and  made  virtues  out  of  his  close-grained 
traits ;  they  praised  and  lamented,  with  sighs  and  mournful 
words,  but  Isom's  widow  could  not  weep. 

Ollie  wished  they  would  go  away  and  let  her  sleep.  She 
longed  for  them  to  put  out  the  lamps  and  let  the  moonlight 
come  in  through  the  window  and  whiten  on  the  floor,  and 
bring  her  soft  thoughts  of  Morgan.  She  chafed  under  their 
chatter,  and  despised  them  for  their  shallow  pretense.  There 
was  not  one  of  them  who  had  respected  Isom  in  life,  but 
now  they  sat  there,  a  solemn  conclave,  great-breasted  suck- 
lers  of  the  sons  of  men,  and  insisted  that  she,  his  unloved, 
his  driven,  abused  and  belabored  wife,  weep  tears  for  his 
going,  for  which,  in  her  heart,  she  was  glad. 


160 The  Bondboy 

It  was  well  that  they  could  not  see  her  face,  turned  into 
the  shadow,  nestled  against  the  pillow,  moved  now  and  then 
as  by  the  zephyr  breath  of  a  smile.  At  times  she  wanted  to 
laugh  at  their  pretense  and  humbug.  To  prevent  it  breaking 
out  in  unseemly  sound  she  was  obliged  to  bite  the  coverlet 
and  let  the  spasms  of  mirth  waste  themselves  in  her  body 
and  limbs. 

When  the  good  women  beheld  these  contractions  they 
looked  at  each  other  meaningly  and  shook  dolefully  wise  heads. 
Dry  grief.  Already  it  was  laying  deep  hold  on  her,  racking 
her  like  ague.  She  would  waste  under  the  curse  of  it,  and 
follow  Isom  to  the  grave  in  a  little  while,  if  she  could  not  soon 
be  moved  to  weep. 

Ollie  did  not  want  to  appear  unneighborly  nor  unkind,  but 
as  the  night  wore  heavily  on  she  at  last  requested  them  to 
leave  her. 

"You  are  all  so  good  and  kind!"  said  she,  sincere  for  the 
moment,  for  there  was  no  mistaking  that  they  meant  to  be. 
"  But  I  think  if  you'd  take  the  lamp  out  of  the  room  I  could 
go  to  sleep.  If  I  need  you,  I'll  call." 

"Now,  that's  just  what  you  do,  deary,"  said  red-faced 
Mrs.  Greening,  patting  her  head  comfortingly. 

The  women  retired  to  the  spare  bedroom  where  Joe  had 
slept  the  night  before,  and  from  there  their  low  voices  came  to 
Ollie  through  the  open  door.  She  got  up  and  closed  it  gently, 
and  ran  up  the  window-blind  and  opened  the  window-sash, 
letting  in  the  wind,  standing  there  a  little  while  drawing  IHT 
gown  aside,  for  the  touch  of  it  on  her  hot  breast.  She  remem 
bered  the  day  that  Joe  had  seen  her  so,  the  churn-dasher  in 
her  hand;  the  recollection  of  what  was  pictured  in  his  face 
provoked  a  smile. 

There  was  a  mist  before  the  moon  like  a  blowing  veil, 
presaging  rain  tomorrow,  the  day  of  the  funeral.  It  was 
well  known  in  that  part  of  the  country  that  rain  on  a  coffin 


The  Sealed  Envelope 161 

was  a  certain  sign  that  another  of  that  family  would  die 
within  a  year.  Ollie  hoped  that  it  would  not  rain.  She  was 
not  ready  to  die  within  a  year,  nor  many  years.  Her  desire 
to  live  was  large  and  deep.  She  had  won  the  right,  Isom 
had  compensated  in  part  for  the  evil  he  had  done  her  in 
leaving  behind  him  all  that  was  necessary  to  make  the  journey 
pleasant. 

As  she  turned  into  her  bed  again  and  composed  herself 
for  sleep,  she  thought  of  Joe,  with  a  feeling  of  tenderness. 
She  recalled  again  what  Isom  had  proudly  told  her  of  the 
lad's  blood  and  breeding,  and  she  understood  dimly  now  that 
there  was  something  extraordinary  in  Joe's  manner  of  shield 
ing  her  to  his  own  disgrace  and  hurt.  A  common  man  would 
not  have  done  that,  she  knew. 

She  wondered  if  Morgan  would  have  done  it,  if  he  had  been 
called  upon,  but  the  yea  or  the  nay  of  it  did  not  trouble  her. 
Morgan  was  secure  in  her  heart  without  sacrifice. 

Well,  tomorrow  they  would  bury  Isom,  and  that  would  end 
it.  Joe  would  be  set  free  then,  she  thought,  the  future 
would  be  clear.  So  reasoning,  she  went  to  sleep  in  peace. 

Ollie's  habit  of  early  rising  during  the  past  year  of  her 
busy  life  made  it  impossible  for  her  to  sleep  after  daylight. 
For  a  while  after  waking  next  morning  she  lay  enjoying  that 
new  phase  of  her  enfranchisement.  From  that  day  forward 
there  would  be  no  need  of  rising  with  the  dawn.  Time  was  her 
own  now;  she  could  stretch  like  a  lady  who  has  servants  to 
bring  and  take  away,  until  the  sun  came  into  her  chamber, 
if  she  choose. 

Downstairs  there  were  dim  sounds  of  people  moving  about, 
and  the  odors  of  breakfast  were  rising.  Thinking  that  it 
would  be  well,  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  to  go  down  and 
assist  them,  she  got  up  and  dressed. 

She  stopped  before  the  glass  to  try  her  hair  in  a  new 
arrangement,  it  was  such  bright  hair,  she  thought,  for  mourn- 


162  The  Bondboy 


ing,  but  yet  as  somber  as  her  heart,  bringing  it  a  little  lower 
on  the  brow,  in  a  sweep  from  the  point  of  parting.  The 
effect  was  somewhat  frivolous  for  a  season  of  mourning,  and 
she  would  have  to  pass  through  one,  she  sighed.  After  a 
while,  when  she  went  out  into  Morgan's  world  of  laughter 
and  chatter  and  fine  things.  She  smiled,  patting  her  lively 
tresses  back  into  their  accustomed  place. 

Ollie  was  vain  of  her  prettiness,  as  any  woman  is,  only 
in  her  case  there  was  no  soul  beneath  it  to  give  it  ballast. 
Her  beauty  was  pretty  much  surface  comeliness,  and  it  was 
all  there  was  of  her,  like  a  great  singer  who  sometimes  is 
nothing  but  a  voice. 

Sol  Greening  was  in  the  kitchen  with  his  wife  and  his  son's 
wife  and  two  of  the  more  distant  neighbor  women  who  had 
remained  overnight.  The  other  men  who  had  watched  with 
Sol  around  Isom's  bier  had  gone  off  to  dig  a  grave  for  the 
dead,  after  the  neighborly  custom  there.  As  quick  as  her 
thought,  Ollie's  eyes  sought  the  spot  where  Isom's  blood 
had  stood  in  the  worn  plank  beside  the  table.  The  stain 
was  gone.  She  drew  her  breath  with  freedom,  seeing  it  so. 
yet  wondering  how  they  had  done  it,  for  she  had  heard  all 
her  life  that  the  stain  of  human  blood  upon  a  floor  could 
not  be  scoured  away. 

"We  was  just  gcttin'  a  bite  of  breakfast  together,"  said 
Mrs.  Greening,  her  red  face  shining,  and  brighter  for  its  big, 
friendly  smile. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  might  not  be  able  to  find  everything,'" 
explained  Ollie,  "  and  so  I  came  down." 

"Xo  need  for  you  to  do  that,  bless  your  heart!"  Mrs. 
Greening  said.  "  But  we  was  just  talkin'  of  callin'  you.  Sol, 
he  run  across  something  last  night  that  we  thought  you 
might  want  to  see  as  soon  as  you  could." 

Ollie  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  them  with  a  question 
in  her  eves. 


The  Sealed  Envelope 163 

"Something  —  something  of  mine?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Greening  nodded. 

"  Something  Isom  left.    Fetch  it  to  her,  Sol." 

Sol  disappeared  into  the  dread  parlor  where  Isom  lay,  and 
came  back  with  a  large  envelope  tied  about  with  a  blue  string, 
and  sealed  at  the  back  with  wax  over  the  knotted  cord. 

"It's  Isom's  will,"  said  Sol,  giving  it  to  Ollie.  "When 
we  was  makin'  room  to  fetch  in  the  coffin  and  lay  Isom  out 
in  it  last  night,  we  had  to  move  the  center  table,  and  the 
drawer  fell  out  of  it.  This  paper  was  in  there  along  with 
a  bundle  of  old  tax  receipts.  As  soon  as  we  seen  what  was  on 
it,  we  decided  it  orto  be  put  in  your  hands  as  soon  as  you 
woke  up." 

"  I  didn't  know  he  had  a  will,"  said  Ollie,  turning  the 
envelope  in  her  hands,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it,  or 
what  to  do  with  it,  at  all. 

"  Read  what's  on  the  in-vellup,"  advised  Sol,  standing  by 
importantly,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  his  big  legs  spread  out. 

Outside  the  sun  was  shining,  tenderly  yellow  like  a  new 
plant.  Ollie  marked  it  with  a  lifting  of  relief.  There  would 
be  no  rain  on  the  coffin.  It  was  light  enough  to  read  the' 
writing  on  the  envelope  where  she  stood,  but  she  moved 
over  to  the  window,  wondering  on  the  wray. 

What  was  a  will  for  but  to  leave  property,  and  what  need 
had  Isom  for  making  one? 

It  was  an  old  envelope,  its  edges  browned  b}'  time,  and 
the  ink  upon  it  was  gray. 

My  last  Will  and  Testament.  ISOM  CHASE. 

N.  B. — To  be  opened  by  John  B.  Little,  in  case  he  is  living  at  the 
time  of  my  death.  If  he  is  not,  then  this  is  to  be  filed  by  the  finder, 
unopened,  in  the  probate  court. 

That  was  the  superscription  in  Isom's  writing,  correctly 
spelled,  correctly  punctuated,  after  his  precise  way  in  all 
business  affairs. 


164  The  Bondboy 


"Who  is  John  B.  Little?"  asked  Ollie,  her  heart  seeming 
to  grow  small,  shrinking  from  some  undefined  dread. 

"  He's  Judge  Little,  of  the  county  court  now,"  said  Sol. 
"  I'll  go  over  after  him,  if  you  say  so." 

"After  hreakfast  will  do,"  said  Ollie. 

She  put  the  envelope  on  the  shelf  beside  the  clock,  as  if  it 
did  not  concern  her  greatly.  Yet,  under  her  placid  surface  she 
was  deeply  moved.  What  need  had  Isom  for  making  a  will? 

"  It  saves  a  lot  of  lawin'  and  wastin'  money  on  costs," 
said  Sol,  as  if  reading  her  mind  and  making  answer  to  her 
thought.  "  You'll  have  a  right  smart  of  property  on  your 
hands  to  look  after  for  a  young  girl  like  you." 

Of  course,  to  her.  Who  else  was  there  for  him  to  will  his 
property  to?  A  right  smart,  indeed.  Sol's  words  were 
wise ;  they  quieted  her  sudden,  sharp  pain  of  fear. 

Judge  Little  lived  less  than  a  mile  away.  Before  nine 
o'clock  he  was  there,  his  black  coat  down  to  his  knees,  for  he 
was  a  short  man  and  bowed  of  the  legs,  his  long  ends  of  hair 
combed  over  his  bald  crown. 

The  judge  was  at  that  state  of  shrinkage  when  the  veins 
can  be  counted  in  the  hands  of  a  thin  man  of  his  kind.  His 
smoothly  shaved  face  was  purple  from  congestion,  the  bald 
place  on  his  small  head  was  red.  He  was  a  man  who  walked 
about  as  if  wrapped  in  meditation,  and  on  him  rested  ;i 
notarial  air.  His  arms  were  almost  as  long  as  his  legs,  his 
hands  were  extremely  large,  lending  the  impression  that  they 
had  belonged  originally  to  another  and  larger  man,  and  that 
Judge  Little  must  have  become  possessed  of  them  by  sonic 
process  of  delinquency  against  a  debtor.  As  he  walked 
along  his  way  those  immense  hands  hovered  near  the  skirts 
of  his  long  coat,  the  fingers  bent,  as  if  to  lay  hold  of  that 
impressive  garment  and  part  it.  This,  together  with  the 
judge's  meditative  appearance,  lent  him  the  aspect  of  always 
being  on  the  point  of  sitting  down. 


The  Sealed  Envelope  165 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  sliding  his  spectacles  down  his  nose 
to  get  the  reading  focus,  advancing  the  sealed  envelope,  draw 
ing  it  away  again,  "  so  Isom  left  a  will?  Not  surprising,  not 
surprising.  Isom  was  a  careful  man,  a  man  of  business.  I 
suppose  we  might  as  well  proceed  to  open  the  document?  " 

The  judge  was  sitting  with  his  thin  legs  crossed.  They 
hung  as  close  and  limp  as  empty  trousers.  Around  the  room 
he  roved  his  eyes,  red,  watery,  plagued  by  dust  and  wind. 
Greening  was  there,  and  his  wife.  The  daughter-in-law  had 
gone  home  to  get  ready  for  the  funeral.  The  other  two 
neighbor  women  reposed  easily  on  the  kitchen  chairs,  arms 
tightly  folded,  backs  against  the  wall. 

"  You,  Mrs.  Chase,  being  the  only  living  person  who  is 
likely  to  have  an  interest  in  the  will  as  legatee,  are  fully  aware 
of  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  found,  and  so  forth 
and  so  forth?" 

Ollie  nodded.  There  was  something  in  her  throat,  dry 
and  impeding.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  speak. 

Judge  Little  took  the  envelope  by  the  end,  holding  it  up 
to  the  light.  He  took  out  his  jack-knife  and  cut  the  cord. 

It  was  a  thin  paper  that  he  drew  forth,  and  with  little 
writing  on  it.  Soon  Judge  Little  had  made  himself  master 
of  its  contents,  with  an  Um-m-m,  as  he  started,  and  with  an 
A-li-h!  when  he  concluded,  and  a  sucking-in  of  his  thin  cheeks. 

He  looked  around  again,  a  new  brightness  in  his  eyes.  But 
he  said  nothing.  He  merely  handed  the  paper  to  Ollie. 

"Read  it  out  loud,"  she  requested,  giving  it  back. 

Judge  Little  fiddled  with  his  glasses  again.  Then  lie 
adjusted  the  paper  before  his  eyes  like  a  target,  and  read: 

I  hereby  will  and  bequeath  to  my  beloved  son,  Isom  Walker  Chase, 
all  of  my  property,  personal  and  real;  and  I  hereby  appoint  my  friend, 
John  B.  Little,  administrator  of  my  estate,  to  serve  without  bond,  until 
my  son  shall  attain  his  majority,  in  case  that  I  should  die  before  that 
time.  This  is  my  last  will,  and  I  am  in  sound  mind  and  bodily  health. 

That  was  all. 


CHAPTER  X 

LET    HIM    HANG 

THE   will   was   duly   signed   and   witnessed,   and   bore   a 
notarial  seal.     It  was  dated  in  the  hand  of  the  testator, 
in  addition  to  the  acknowledgment  of  the  notary,  nil  regu 
lar,  and  unquestionably  done. 

"His  son!"  said  Sol,  amazed,  looking  around  with  big 
eyes.  "  Why,  Isom  he  never  had  no  son  !  " 

"Do  we  know  that?"  asked  Judge  Little,  as  if  to  raise  the 
question  of  reasonable  doubt. 

Son  or  no  son,  until  that  point  should  be  determined  he 
would  have  the  administration  of  the  estate,  with  large  and 
comfortable  fees. 

"  Well,  I've  lived  right  there  acrost  the  road  from  him  all 
my  life,  and  all  of  his,  too;  and  I  reckon  I'd  purty  near  know 
if  anybody  knowed ! "  declared  Sol.  "I  went  to  school  with 
Isom,  I  was  one  of  the  little  fellers  when  he  was  a  big  one, 
and  I  was  at  his  weddin'.  Mv  wife  she  laid  out  his  first 
wife,  and  I  dug  her  grave.  She  never  had  no  children, 
judge;  you  know  that  as  well  as  anybody." 

Judge  Little  coughed  dryly,  thoughtfully,  his  customary 
aspect  of  deep  meditation  more  impressive  than  ever. 

"  Sometimes  the  people  we  believe  we  know  best  turn  out  to 
be  the  ones  we  know  least,"  said  he.  "  Maybe  we  knew  only 
one  side  of  Isom's  life.  Every  man  has  his  secrets." 

"You  mean  to  say  there  was  another  woman  somewhcres?" 
asked  Sol,  taking  the  scent  avidly. 

The  women  against  the  wall  joined  Mrs.  Greening  in  a 
rirtuous,  scandalized  groan.  They  looked  pityingly  at  Ollie, 
sitting  straight  and  white  in  her  chair.  She  did  not  appeaf 

166 


Let  Him  Hang  167 


to  see  them ;  she  was  looking  at  Judge  Little  with  fixed, 
frightened  stare. 

"  That  is  not  for  me  to  say,"  answered  the  judge ;  and  his 
manner  of  saying  it  seemed  to  convey  the  hint  that  he  could 
throw  light  on  Isom's  past  if  he  should  unseal  his  lips. 

Ollie  took  it  to  be  that  way.  She  recalled  the  words  of  the 
will,  "My  friend,  John  B.  Little."  Isom  had  never  spoken 
in  her  hearing  that  way  of  any  man.  Perhaps  there  was 
some  bond  between  the  two  men,  reaching  back  to  the  escap 
ades  of  youth,  and  maj'be  Judge  Little  had  the  rusty  old 
key  to  some  past  romance  in  Isom's  life. 

"Laws  of  mercy ! "  said  Mrs.  Greening,  freeing  a  sigh  of 
indignation  which  surely  must  have  burst  her  if  it  had  been 
repressed. 

"  This  document  is  dated  almost  thirty  years  ago,"  said  the 
judge.  "It  is  possible  that  Isom  left  a  later  will.  We  must 
make  a  search  of  the  premises  to  determine  that." 

"  In  sixty-seven  he  wrote  it,"  said  Sol,  "  and  that  was  the 
year  he  was  married.  The  certificate's  hangin'  in  there  on 
the  wall.  Before  that,  Isom  he  went  off  to  St.  Louis  to 
business  college  a  year  or  two  and  got  all  of  his  learnin'  and 
smart  ways.  I  might  'a'  went,  too,  just  as  well  as  not. 
Always  wisht  I  had." 

"  Very  true,  very  true,"  nodded  Judge  Little,  as  if  to  say : 
"  You're  on  the  trail  of  his  iniquities  now,  Sol." 

Sol's  mouth  gaped  like  an  old-fashioned  corn-planter  as  he 
looked  from  the  judge  to  Mrs.  Greening,  from  Mrs.  Greening 
to  Ollie.  Sol  believed  the  true  light  of  the  situation  had 
reached  his  brain. 

"Walker  —  Isom  Walker  Chase!  No  Walkers  around  in 
this  part  of  the  country  to  name  a  boy  after  —  never  was." 

"  His  mother  was  a  Walker,  from  Ellinoi,  dunce ! " 
corrected  his  wife. 

"  Oh ! "    said    Sol,   his    scandalous    case    collapsing    about 


168  The  Eondboy 


him  as  quickly  as  it  had  puffed  up.     "  I  forgot  about  her." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  that  will,  honey,"  advised  Mrs. 
Greening,  going  to  Ollie  and  putting  her  large  freckled  arm 
around  the  young  woman's  shoulders  ;  "  for  it  won't  amount 
to  shucks !  Isom  never  had  a  son,  and  even  if  he  did  by  some 
woman  he  wasn't  married  to,  how's  he  goin'  to  prove  he's 
the  feller?" 

Nobody  attempted  to  answer  her,  and  Mrs.  Greening  ac 
cepted  that  as  proof  that  her  argument  was  indubitable. 

"  It  —  can't  —  be  —  true  !  "  said  Ollie. 

"  Well,  it  gits  the  best  of  me ! "  sighed  Greening,  shaking 
his  uncombed  head.  "  Isom  he  was  too  much  of  a  business 
man  to  go  and  try  to  play  off  a  joke  like  that  on  anybody." 

"  After  the  funeral  I  would  advise  a  thorough  search  among 
Isom's  papers  in  the  chance  of  finding  another  and  later  will 
than  this,"  said  Judge  Little.  "And  in  the  meantime,  as  a 
legal  precaution,  merely  as  a  legal  precaution  and  formality, 
Mrs.  Chase " 

The  judge  stopped,  looking  at  Ollie  from  beneath  the  rims 
of  his  specs,  as  if  waiting  for  her  permission  to  proceed. 
Ollie,  understanding  nothing  at  all  of  what  was  in  his  mind, 
but  feeling  that  it  was  required  of  her,  nodded.  That  seemed 
the  signal  for  which  he  waited.  lie  proceeded: 

"As  a  legal  formality,  Mrs.  Chase,  I  will  proceed  to  file 
this  document  for  probate  this  afternoon." 

Judge  Little  put  it  in  his  pocket,  reaching  down  into  that 
deep  depository  until  his  long  arm  was  engulfed  to  the  elbow. 
That  pocket  must  have  run  down  to  the  hem  of  his  garment, 
like  the  oil  on  Aaron's  beard. 

Ollie  got  up.  Mrs.  Greening  hastened  to  her  to  offer  the 
support  of  her  motherly  arm. 

"  I  think  I'll  go  upstairs,"  said  the  young  widow. 

"Yes,  you  do,"  counseled  Mrs.  Greening.  '"They'll  be 
along  with  the  wagons  purtv  soon,  and  we'll  have  to  git 


Let  Him  Hang  169 


ready  to  go.    I  think  they  must  have  the  grave  done  by  now." 

The  women  watched  Ollie  as  she  went  uncertainly  to  the 
stairs  and  faltered  as  she  climbed  upward,  shaking  their  hea9s 
forebodingly.  Sol  and  Judge  Little  went  outside  together 
and  stood  talking  by  the  door. 

"  Ain't  it  terrible !  "  said  one  woman. 

"  Scan'lous !  "  agreed  the  other. 

Mrs.  Greening  shook  her  fist  toward  the  parlor. 

"  Old  sneaky,  slinkin',  miserly  Isom !  "  she  denounced.  "  I 
always  felt  that  he  was  the  kind  of  a  man  to  do  a  trick  like 
that.  Shootin'  was  too  good  for  him  —  he  orto  been  hung!" 

In  her  room  upstairs  Ollie,  while  entirely  unaware  of  Mrs. 
Greening's  vehement  arraignment  of  Isom,  bitterly  indorsed 
it  in  her  heart.  She  sat  on  her  tossed  bed,  the  sickness  of 
disappointment  heavy  over  her.  An  hour  ago  wealth  was  in 
her  hand,  ease  was  before  her,  and  the  future  was  secure. 
Now  all  was  torn  down  and  scattered  by  an  old  yellow  paper 
which  prying,  curious,  meddlesome  old  Sol  Greening  had 
found.  She  bent  her  head  upon  her  hand ;  tears  trickled 
between  her  fingers. 

Perhaps  Isom  had  a  son,  unknown  to  anybody  there. 
There  was  that  period  out  of  his  life  when  he  was  at  business 
college  in  St.  Louis.  No  one  knew  what  had  taken  place  in 
that  time.  Perhaps  he  had  a  son.  If  so,  they  would  oust 
her,  turn  her  out  as  poor  as  she  came,  with  the  memory 
of  that  hard  }Tear  of  servitude  in  her  heart  and  nothing  to 
compensate  for  it,  not  even  a  tender  recollection.  How 
much  better  if  Joe  had  not  come  between  her  and  Curtis 
Morgan  that  night  — what  night,  how  long  ago  was  it  now? 
—  how  much  kinder  and  happier  for  her  indeed? 

With  the  thought  of  what  Joe  had  caused  of  wreckage  in 
her  life  by  his  meddling,  her  resentment  rose  against  him. 
But  for  him,  slow-mouthed,  cold-hearted  lout,  she  would  have 
been  safe  and  happy  with  Morgan  that  hour.  Old  Isom 


170  The  Bondboy 


would  have  been  living  still,  going  about  his  sordid  ways  as 
before  she  came,  and  the  need  of  his  money  would  have  been 
removed  out  of  her  life  forever. 

Joe  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  —  spying,  prying,  med 
dling  Joe.  Let  him  suffer  for  it  now,  said  she.  If  he  had 
kept  out  of  things  which  he  did  not  understand,  the  fool ! 
Xow  let  him  suffer!  Let  him  hang,  if  he  must  hang,  as  she 
had  heard  the  women  say  last  night  he  should.  No  act  of 
hers,  no  word  — 

"  The  wagons  is  coming,  honey,"  said  Mrs.  Greening  at  her 
door.  "  We  must  git  ready  to  go  to  the  graveyard  now." 


CHAPTER  XI 

PETER'S  sox 

MINT  grew  under  the  peach-trees  in  Colonel  Henry 
Price's  garden,  purple-stemmed  mint,  with  dark-green, 
tender  leaves.  It  was  not  the  equal  of  the  mint,  so  the 
colonel  contended  with  provincial  loyalty,  which  grew  back  in 
Kentucky  along  the  clear,  cool  mountain  streams.  But, 
picked  early  in  the  morning  with  the  dew  on  it,  and  then 
placed  bouquet-wise  in  a  bowl  of  fresh  well-water,,  to  stand 
thus  until  needed,  it  made  a  very  competent  substitute  for 
the  Kentucky  herb. 

In  that  cool  autumn  weather  mint  was  at  its  best,  and 
Colonel  Price  lamented,  as  he  gathered  it  that  morning,  elbow- 
deep  in  its  dewy  fragrance,  that  the  need  of  it  was  passing 
with  the  last  blaze  of  October  days. 

Yet  it  was  comforting  to  consider  how  well-balanced  the 
seasons  and  men's  appetites  were.  With  the  passing  of  the 
season  for  mint,  the  desire  for  it  left  the  palate.  Frosty 
mornings  called  for  the  comfort  of  hot  toddy,  wintry  blasts 
for  frothing  egg-nog  in  the  cup.  Man  thirsted  and  nature 
satisfied ;  the  economy  of  the  world  was  thus  balanced  and 
all  was  well.  So  reasoned  Colonel  Price  comfortably,  after 
his  way. 

Colonel  Price  straightened  up  from  his  mint-picking  with 
dew  on  his  arm  and  a  flush  of  gathered  blood  in  his  cheeks 
above  his  beard.  He  looked  the  philosopher  and  humanitarian 
that  he  was  that  morning,  his  breast-length  white  beard  blow 
ing,  his  long  and  thick  white  hair  brushed  back  in  a  rising 
wave  from  his  broad  forehead.  He  was  a  tall  and  spare 
man,  slender  of  hand,  small  of  foot,  with  the  crinkles  of  past 

171 


172  The  Eondboy 


laughter  about  his  eyes,  and  in  his  face  benevolence.  One 
would  have  named  him  a  poet  at  first  look,  and  argued  for 
the  contention  on  further  acquaintance. 

But  Colonel  Price  was  not  a  poet,  except  at  heart,  anv 
more  than  he  was  a  soldier,  save  in  name.  lie  never  had  trod 
the  bloody  fields  of  war,  but  had  won  his  dignified  and  honor 
able  title  in  the  quiet  ways  of  peace.  Colonel  Price  was 
nothing  less  than  an  artist,  who  painted  many  things  because 
they  brought  him  money,  and  one  thing  because  he  loved  it 
and  could  do  it  well. 

He  painted  prize-winning  heifers  and  horses;  portraits 
from  the  faces  of  men  as  nature  had  made  them,  with  more  or 
less  fidelity,  and  from  faded  photographs  and  treasured 
daguerreotypes  of  davs  before  and  during  the  war,  with 
whatever  embellishments  their  owners  required.  He  painted 
plates  of  apples  which  had  taken  prizes  at  the  county  fair, 
and  royal  pumpkins  and  kingly  swine  which  had  won  like 
high  distinctions.  But  the  one  thing  he  painted  because  he 
loved  it,  and  could  do  it  better  than  anybody  else,  was 
corn. 

At  corn  Colonel  Price  stood  alone.  He  painted  it  in 
bunches  hanging  on  barn  doors,  and  in  disordered  heaps  in 
the  husk,  a  gleam  of  the  grain  showing  here  and  there;  and 
lie  painted  it  shelled  from  the  cob.  Xo  matter  where  or  how 
lie  painted  it,  his  corn  always  was  ripe  and  seasoned,  like 
himself,  and  always  so  true  to  nature,  color,  form,  crinkle, 
wrinkle,  and  guttered  heart,  that  farmers  stood  before  it 
marveling. 

Colonel  Price's  heifers  might  be  —  very  frequently  they 
were- — bulky  and  bumpy  and  out  of  proportion,  his  horses 
strangely  foreshortened  and  hindlengthened  ;  but  there  never 
was  any  fault  to  be  found  with  his  corn.  Corn  absolved 
him  of  all  his  sins  against  animate  and  inanimate  things 
which  had  stood  before  his  brush  in  his  long  life;  corn 


Peters  Son  173 


apotheosized  him,  corn  lifted  him  to  the  throne  and  put  the 
laurel  upon  his  old  white  locks. 

The  colonel  had  lived  in  Shelbyville  for  more  than  thirty 
years,  in  the  same  stately  house  with  its  three  Ionic  pillars 
reaching  from  ground  to  gable,  supporting  the  two  balconies 
facing  toward  the  east.  A  square  away  on  one  hand  was  the 
court-house,  a  square  away  on  the  other  the  Presbyterian 
church ;  and  around  him  were  the  homes  of  men  whom  he 
had  seen  come  there  young,  and  ripen  with  him  in  that  quiet 
place.  Above  him  on  the  hill  stood  the  famous  old  college, 
its  maples  and  elms  around  it,  and  coming  down  from  it  on 
each  side  of  the  broad  street  which  led  to  its  classic  door. 

Colonel  Price  turned  his  thoughts  from  mint  to  men  as  he 
came  across  the  dewy  lawn,  his  gleanings  in  his  hand,  his 
bare  head  gleaming  in  the  morning  sun.  He  had  heard,  the 
evening  before,  of  the  arrest  of  Peter  Newbolt's  boy  for  the 
murder  of  Isom  Chase,  and  the  news  of  it  had  come  to  him 
with  a  disturbing  shock,  almost  as  poignant  as  if  one  of  his 
own  blood  had  been  accused. 

The  colonel  knew  the  sad  story  of  Peter  marrying  below 
his  estate  away  back  there  in  Kentucky  long  ago.  The  New- 
bolts  were  blue-grass  people,  entitled  to  mate  with  the  best 
in  the  land.  Peter  had  debased  his  blood  by  marrying  a 
mountain  girl.  Colonel  Price  had  held  it  always  to  Peter's 
credit  that  he  had  been  ashamed  of  his  mesalliance,  and  had 
plunged  away  into  the  woods  of  Missouri  with  his  bride  to 
hide  her  from  the  eyes  of  his  aristocratic  family  and  friends. 

Back  in  Kentucky  the  colonel's  family  and  the  Ncwbolt's 
had  been  neighbors.  A  few  years  after  Peter  made  his  dash 
across  the  Mississippi  with  his  bride,  and  the  journey  on 
horseback  to  his  new  home,  young  Price  had  followed,  drawn 
to  Shelbyville  by  the  fame  of  that  place  at  a  seat  of  culture 
and  knowledge,  which  even  in  that  early  day  had  spread  afar. 
The  colonel  —  not  having  won  his  title  then  —  came  across 


174 The  Bo-Jidboy 

the  river  with  his  easel  under  one  arm  and  his  pride  under 
the  other,  lie  had  kept  both  of  them  in  honor  all  those 
vears. 

On  the  hopes  and  ambitions  of  those  early  days  the  colonel 
had  realized,  in  a  small  way,  something  in  the  measure  of  a 
man  who  sets  to  work  with  the  intention  of  making  a  million 
and  finds  himself  content  at  last  to  count  his  gains  bv  hun 
dreds.  He  had  taken  up  politics  as  a  spice  to  the  placid  life 
of  art,  and  once  had  represented  his  district  in  the  state 
assembly,  and  four  times  had  been  elected  county  clerk.  Then 
he  had  retired  on  his  honors,  with  a  competence  from  his 
early  investments  and  an  undivided  ambition  to  paint  corn. 

Through  all  those  years  he  had  watched  the  struggles  of 
Peter  Newbolt,  who  never  seemed  able  to  kick  a  foothold  in 
the  steps  of  success,  and  he  had  seen  him  die  at  last,  with  his 
unrealized  schemes  of  life  around  him.  And  now  Peter's  boy 
was  in  jail,  charged  with  slaying  old  Isom  Chase.  Death  had 
its  compensations,  at  the  worst,  reflected  the  colonel.  It  had 
spared  Peter  this  crowning  disgrace. 

That  boy  must  be  a  throw-back,  thought  the  colonel,  to" 
the  ambuscading,  feud-fighting  men  on  his  mother's  side.  The 
Newbolts  never  had  been  accused  of  crime  back  in  Kentucky. 
There  they  had  been  the  legislators,  the  judges,  the  gover 
nors,  and  senators.  Yes,  thought  the  colonel,  coming  around 
the  corner  of  the  house,  lifting  the  fragrant  bunch  of  mint 
to  his  face  and  pausing  a  step  while  he  drank  its  breath; 
yes,  the  boy  must  be  a  throw-back.  It  wasn't  in  the  New- 
bolt  blood  to  do  a  thing  like  that. 

The  colonel  heard  the  front  gate  close  sharply,  drawn  to 
bv  the  stone  weight  which  he  had  arranged  for  that  purpose, 
having  in  mind  the  guarding  of  his  mint-bed  from  the  incur 
sions  of  dogs.  He  wondered  who  could  be  coming  in  so  early, 
and  hastened  forward  to  see.  A  woman  was  coming  up  the 
walk  toward  the  house. 


Peters  Son 175 

She  was  tall,  and  soberly  clad,  and  wore  a  little  shawl  over 
her  head,  which  she  held  at  her  chin  with  one  hand.  The 
other  hand  she  extended  toward  the  colonel  with  a  gesture  of 
self-depreciation  and  appeal  as  she  hurried  forward  in  long 
strides. 

"  Colonel  Price,  Colonel  Price,  sir !  Can  I  speak  to  you 
a  minute?"  she  asked,  her  voice  halting  from  the  shortness 
of  breath. 

"  Certainly,  ma'am ;  I  am  at  your  command,"  said  the 
colonel. 

"  Colonel,  you  don't  know  me,"  said  she,  a  little  inflection 
of  disappointment  in  her  tone. 

She  stood  before  him,  and  the  little  shawl  over  her  hair 
fell  back  to  her  shoulders.  Her  clothing  was  poor,  her  feet 
were  covered  with  dust.  She  cast  her  hand  out  again  in 
that  little  movement  of  appeal. 

''Mrs.  Xewbolt,  Peter  Newbolt's  widow,  upon  my  soul!" 
exclaimed  the  colonel,  shocked  by  his  own  slow  recognition. 
"  I  beg  your  pardon,  madam.  I  didn't  know  you  at  first,  it 
has  been  so  long  since  I  saw  you.  But  I  was  thinking  of 
you  only  the  minute  past." 

u  Oh,  I'm  in  such  trouble,  Colonel  Price !  "  said  she. 

Colonel  Price  took  her  by  the  arm  with  tender  friendliness. 

"  Come  in  and  rest  and  refresh  yourself,"  said  he.  "  You 
surely  didn't  Avalk  over  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it's  only  a  step,"  said  she. 

"  Five  or  six  miles,  I  should  say,"  ventured  the  colonel. 

*'  Oh,  no,  only  four.  Have  you  heard  about  my  boy 
Joe?" 

The  colonel  admitted  that  he  had  heard  of  his  arrest. 

"  I've  come  over  to  ask  your  advice  on  what  to  do,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  hope  it  won't  bother  you  much,  Colonel  Price. 
Joe  and  me  we  haven't  got  a  friend  in  this  world ! " 

"  I  will  consider  it  a  duty  and  a  pleasure  to  assist  the  boy 


176  The  Eondboy 


in  any  way  I  can,"  said  the  colonel  in  perfunctory  form. 
"But  first  come  in,  have  some  breakfast,  and  then  we'll  talk 
it  over.  I'll  have  to  apologize  for  Miss  Price.  I'm  afraid 
she's  abed  yet,"  said  he,  opening  the  door,  showing  his  visitor 
into  the  parlor. 

"I'm  awful  early,"  said  Mrs.  Newbolt  hesitating  at  the 
door.  "  It's  shameful  to  come  around  disturbin'  folks  at  this 
hour.  But  when  a  body's  in  trouble,  Colonel  Price,  time 
seems  long." 

"  It's  the  same  with  all  of  us,"  said  he.  "  But  Miss  Price 
will  be  down  presently.  I  think  I  hear  her  now.  Just  step 
in,  ma'am." 

She  looked  deprecatingly  at  her  dusty  shoes,  standing  there 
in  the  parlor  door,  her  skirts  gathered  back  from  them. 

"  If  I  could  wipe  some  of  this  dust  off,"  said  she. 

"  Never  mind  that ;  we  are  all  made  of  it,"  the  colonel  said. 
"  I'll  have  the  woman  set  you  out  some  breakfast ;  after 
ward  we'll  talk  about  the  boy." 

"  I  thank  you  kindly,  Colonel  Price,  but  I  already  et,  long 
ago,  what  little  I  had  stomach  for,"  said  she. 

"Then  if  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment,  madam?" 
begged  the  colonel,  seeing  her  seated  stiffly  in  an  upholstered 
chair. 

She  half  rose  in  acknowledgment  of  his  bow,  awkward  and 
embarrassed. 

"  You're  excusable,  sir,"  said  she. 

The  colonel  dashed  away  down  the  hall.  She  was  only  a 
mountain  woman,  certainly,  but  she  was  a  ladv  by  virtue  of 
having  been  a  gentleman's  wife.  And  she  had  caught  him 
without  a  coat ! 

Mrs.  Xcwbolt  sat  stiffly  in  the  parlor  in  surroundings  which 
were  of  the  first  magnitude  of  grandeur  to  her,  with  corn 
pictures  adorning  the  walls  along  with  some  of  the  colonel's 
early  transgressions  in  landscapes,  and  the  portraits  of 


Peters  Son  177 


colonels  in  the  family  line  who  had  gone  before.  That  was 
the  kind  of  fixings  Joe  would  like,  thought  she,  nodding  her 
serious  head;  just  the  kind  of  things  that  Joe  would  enjoy 
and  understand,  like  a  gentleman  born  to  it. 

"  Well,  he  comes  by  it  honest,"  said  she  aloud. 

Colonel  Price  did  not  keep  her  waiting  long.  He  came  back 
in  a  black  coat  that  was  quite  as  grand  as  Judge  Little's, 
and  almost  as  long.  That  garment  was  the  mark  of  fashion 
and  gentility  in  that  part  of  the  country  in  those  days, 
a  style  that  has  outlived  many  of  the  hearty  old  gentle 
men  who  did  it  honor,  and  has  descended  even  to  this  day  with 
their  sons. 

"  My  son's  innocent  of  what  they  lay  to  him,  Colonel 
Price,"  said  Mrs.  Newbolt,  with  impressive  dignity  which 
lifted  her  immediately  in  the  colonel's  regard. 

Even  an  inferior  woman  could  not  associate  with  a  superior 
man  that  long  without  some  of  his  gentility  passing  to  her, 
thought  he.  Colonel  Price  inclined  his  head  gravely. 

"  Madam,  Peter  Newbolt's  son  never  would  commit  a 
crime,  much  less  the  crime  of  murder,"  he  said,  yet  with  more 
sincerity  in  his  words,  perhaps,  than  lay  in  his  heart. 

"  I  only  ask  you  to  hold  back  your  decision  on  him  till  you 
can  learn  the  truth,"  said  she,  unconsciously  passing  over 
the  colonel's  declaration  of  confidence.  "  You  don't  remember 
Joe  maybe,  for  he  was  only  a  little  shaver  the  last  time  you 
stopped  at  our  house  when  you  was  canvassin'  for  office. 
That's  been  ten  or  'leven  —  maybe  more  —  years  ago.  Joe, 
he's  growed  considerable  since  then." 

"  They  do,  they  shoot  up,"  said  the  colonel  encouragingly. 

"  Yes ;  but  Joe  he's  nothing  like  me.  He  runs  after  his 
father's  side  of  the  family,  and  he's  a  great  big  man  in  size 
now,  Colonel  Price ;  but  he's  as  soft  at  heart  as  a  dove." 

So  she  talked  on,  telling  him  what  she  knew.  When  she  had 
finished  laying  the  case  of  Joe  before  him,  the  colonel  sat 


178 The  liondboy 

thinking  it  over  a  bit,  one  hand  in  his  beard,  his  head  slightly' 
bowed.  Mrs.  Ncwbolt  watched  him  with  anxious  eyes.  Pres 
ently  he  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  A  great  load  of  uncertainty 
went  up  from  her  heart  in  a  sigh. 

"The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  get  him  a  lawyer,  and  the  best 
one  we  can  nail,"  the  colonel  said. 

She  nodded,  her  face  losing  its  worried  tension. 

"And  the  next  tiling  is  for  Joe  to  make  a  clean  breast  of 
everything,  holding  back  nothing  that  took  place  between  him 
and  Isom  that  night." 

"  I'll  tell  him  to  do  it,"  said  she  eagerly,  "  and  I  know  he 
will  when  I  tell  him  you  said  he  must." 

"  I'll  go  over  to  the  sheriff's  with  you  and  see  him,"  said 
the  colonel,  avoiding  the  use  of  the  word  "jail"  with  a 
delicacy  that  was  his  own. 

"I'm  beholden  to  you,  Colonel  Price,  for  all  your  great 
kindness,"  said  she. 

There  had  been  no  delay  in  the  matter  of  returning  an 
indictment  against  Joe.  The  grand  jury  was  in  session  at 
that  time,  opportunely  for  all  concerned,  and  on  the  day  that 
Joe  was  taken  to  the  county  jail  the  case  was  laid  before  that 
body  by  the  prosecuting  attorney.  Before  the  grand  jury 
adjourned  that  day's  business  a  true  bill  had  been  returned 
against  Joe  Xewbolt,  charging  him  with  the  murder  of  Isom 
Chase. 

There  was  in  Shelbyvillc  at  that  time  a  lawyer  who  had 
mounted  to  his  profession  like  a  conqueror,  over  the  heads  of 
his  fellow-townsmen  as  stepping-stones.  Perhaps  it  would  be 
nearer  the  mark  to  say  that  the  chins  of  the  men  of  Shelby 
villc  were  the  rungs  in  this  ladder,  for  the  lawyer  had  risen 
from  the  barber's  chair.  lie  had  shaved  and  sheared  his  way 
from  that  ancient  trade,  in  which  he  had  been  respected  as  an 
able  hand,  to  the  equally  ancient  profession,  in  which  he  was 
cutting  a  rather  ludicrous  and  lumbering  figure. 


Peter's  Son  179 

But  he  had  that  enterprise  and  lack  of  modesty  which  has 
lately  become  the  fashion  among  young  lawyers  —  and  is 
spreading  fast  among  the  old  ones,  too  —  which  carried  him 
into  places  and  cases  where  simphr  learning  would  have  left 
him  without  a  brief.  If  a  case  did  not  come  to  Lawyer  Ham 
mer,  Lawyer  Hammer  went  to  the  case,  laid  hold  of  it  by 
force,  and  took  possession  of  it  as  a  kidnaper  carries  off  a 
child. 

Hammer  was  a  forerunner  of  the  type  of  lawyer  so  common 
in  our  centers  of  population  today,  such  as  one  sees  chasing 
ambulances  through  the  streets  with  a  business-card  in  one 
hand  and  a  contract  in  the  other  ;  such  as  arrives  at  the 
scene  of  wreck,  fire,  and  accident  along  with  the  undertaker, 
and  always  ahead  of  the  doctors  and  police. 

Hammer  had  his  nose  in  the  wind  the  minute  that  Constable 
Frost  came  into  town  with  his  prisoner.  Before  Joe  had  been 
in  jail  an  hour  he  had  engaged  himself  to  defend  that  unso 
phisticated  youngster,  and  had  drawn  from  him  an  order  on 
Mrs.  Newbolt  for  twenty-five  dollars.  He  had  demanded  fifty 
as  his  retainer,  but  Joe  knew  that  his  mother  had  but  twenty- 
five  dollars  saved  out  of  his  wages,  and  no  more.  He  would 
not  budge  a  cent  beyond  that  amount. 

So,  as  Mrs.  Newbolt  and  Colonel  Price  approached  the 
jail  that  morning,  they  beheld  the  sheriff  and  Lawyer  Ham 
mer  coming  down  the  steps  of  the  county  prison,  and  between 
them  Joe,  like  Eugene  Aram,  "with  gyves  upon  his  wrists." 
The  sheriff  was  taking  Joe  out  to  arraign  him  before  the 
circuit  judge  to  plead  to  the  indictment. 

The  court  convened  in  that  same  building  where  all  the 
county's  business  was  centered,  and  there  was  no  necessity  for 
taking  the  prisoner  out  through  one  door  and  in  at  another, 
for  there  was  a  passage  from  cells  to  court-rooms.  But  if 
he  had  taken  Joe  that  way,  the  sheriff'  would  have  lost  a 
seldom-presented  opportunity  of  showing  himself  on  the 


180  The  Bondboy 


streets  in  charge  of  a  prisoner  accused  of  homicide,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  grand  opening  for  the  use  of  his  ancient  wrist- 
irons. 

Lawyer  Hammer  also  enjoyed  his  distinction  in  that  short 
march.  He  leaned  over  and  whispered  in  his  client's  car,  so 
that  there  would  be  no  doubt  left  in  the  public  understanding 
of  his  relations  to  the  prisoner,  and  he  took  Joe's  arm  and 
added  his  physical  support  to  his  legal  as  they  descended  the 
steps. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  was  painfully  shocked  by  the  sight  of  the 
irons  on  Joe's  wrists.  She  groaned  as  if  they  clamped  the 
flesh  of  her  own. 

"  Oh,  they  didn't  need  to  do  that,"  she  moaned. 

Joe  doubtless  heard  her,  for  he  lifted  his  face  and  ran  his 
eyes  through  the  crowd  which  had  gathered.  When  he  found 
her  he  smiled.  That  was  the  first  look  Colonel  Price  ever 
had  taken  into  the  lad's  face. 

"No,"  said  he,  answering  her  anguished  outbreak  with  a 
fervency  that  came  from  his  heart,  "  there  was  no  need  of  that 
at  all."" 

They  followed  the  sheriff  and  his  charge  into  the  court 
room,  where  Mrs.  Xewbolt  introduced  Colonel  Price  to  her 
son.  While  Joe  and  his  mother  sat  in  whispered  conver 
sation  at  the  attorney's  table,  the  colonel  studied  the  youth's 
countenance. 

He  had  expected  to  meet  a  weak-faced,  bony-necked,  shock- 
headed  tvpe  of  gangling  youngster  such  as  ranged  the 
Kentucky  hills  in  his  own  boyhood.  At  best  he  had  hoped  for 
nothing  more  than  a  slow-headed,  tobacco-chewing  rascal  with 
dodging,  animal  eves.  The  colonel's  pleasure,  then,  both  as 
an  artist  and  an  honest  man,  was  great  on  beholding  this 
unusual  face,  strong  and  clear,  as  inflexible  in  its  molded 
lines  of  high  purpose  and  valiant  deeds  as  a  carving  in 
Flemish  oak. 


Peter's  Son  181 


Here  was  the  Peter  Newbolt  of  long  ago,  remodeled  in  a 
stronger  cast,  with  more  nobility  in  his  brow,  more  promise 
in  his  long,  bony  jaw.  Here  was  no  boy  at  all,  but  a  man, 
full-founded  and  rugged,  and  as  honest  as  daylight,  the 
colonel  knew. 

Colonel  Price  was  prepared  to  believe  whatever  that  young 
fellow  might  say,  and  to  maintain  it  before  the  world.  He 
was  at  once  troubled  to  see  Hammer  mixed  up  in  the  case, 
for  he  detested  Hammer  as  a  plebeian  smelling  of  grease,  who 
had  shouldered  his  unwelcome  person  into  a  company  of  his 
betters,  which  he  could  neither  dignify  nor  grace. 

The  proceedings  in  court  were  brief.  Joe  stood,  upon  the 
reading  of  the  long,  rambling  information  by  the  prosecut 
ing  attorney,  and  entered  a  calm  and  dignified  plea  of  not 
guilty.  He  was  held  without  bond  for  trial  two  weeks  from 
that  day. 

In  the  sheriff's  office  Mrs.  Newbolt  and  the  colonel  sat  with 
Joe,  his  wrists  free  from  the  humiliating  irons,  and  talked 
the  situation  over.  Hammer  was  waiting  on  the  outside. 
Colonel  Price  having  waved  him  away,  not  considering  for  a 
moment  the  lowering  of  himself  to  include  Hammer  in  the 
conference. 

The  colonel  found  that  he  could  not  fall  into  an  easy, 
advisory  attitude  with  Joe.  He  could  not  even  suggest  what 
he  had  so  strongly  recommended  to  Mrs.  Newbolt  before 
meeting  her  son  —  that  he  make  a  clean  breast  of  all  that  took 
place  between  himself  and  Isom  Chase  before  the  tragedy. 
Colonel  Price  felt  that  he  would  be  taking  an  offensive  and 
unwarranted  liberty  in  offering  any  advice  at  all  on  that  head. 
Whatever  his  reasons  for  concealment  and  silence  were,  the 
colonel  told  himself,  the  young  man  would  be  found  in  the  end 
justified;  or  if  there  was  a  revelation  to  be  made,  then  he1 
would  make  it  at  the  proper  time  without  being  pressed.  Of 
that  the  colonel  felt  sure.  A  gentleman  could  be  trusted. 


182  The  Eondboy 


But  there  was  another  matter  upon  which  the  colonel  had 
no  scruples  of  silence,  and  that  was  the  subject  of  the  attor 
ney  upon  whom  Joe  had  settled  to  conduct  his  affairs. 

"That  man  Hammer  is  not,  to  say  the  least,  the  very  best 
lawyer  in  Shelbyvillc,"  said  he. 

"No,  I  don't  suppose  he  is,"  allowed  Joe. 

"  Now,  I  believe  in  you,  Joe.  as  strong  as  any  man  can 
believe  in  another " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Joe,  lifting  his  solemn  eyes  to  the 
colonel's  face.  The  colonel  nodded  his  acknowledgment. 

"  But,  no  matter  how  innocent  you  are,  you've  got  to  stand 
trial  on  this  outrageous  charge,  and  the  county  attorney 
he's  a  hard  and  unsparing  man.  You'll  need  brains  on  your 
side  as  well  as  innocence,  for  innocence  alone  seldom  gets  a 
man  off.  And  I'm  sorry  to  tell  you,  son,  that  Jeff  Hammer 
hasn't  got  the  brains  you'll  need  in  your  lawvcr.  He  never 
did  have  'cm,  and  he  never  will  have  'em  —  never  in  this  mor 
tal  world!" 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  kind  of  sharp,"  said  Joe,  coloring 
a  little  at  the  colonel's  implied  charge  that  he  had  been  taken 
in. 

"He  is  sharp,"  admitted  the  colonel,  "but  that's  all  there 
is  to  him.  He  can  wiggle  and  squirm  like  a  snake;  but  he's 
got  no  dignity,  and  no  learnin',  and  what  he  don't  know  about 
law  would  make  a  book  bigger  than  the  biggest  dictionary 
you  ever  saw." 

"Land's  sake!"  said  Mrs.  Ncwbolt,  lifting  up  her  hands 
despairingly. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he'll  do,  Colonel  Price,"  said  Joe. 

"  My  advice  would  be  to  turn  him  out  and  put  somebody 
else  in  his  place,  one  of  the  old,  respectable  heads  of  the 
profession  here,  like  Judge  Burns." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  do  that,  colonel,"  said  Joe. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  how  he  behaves,"  the  colonel  yielded,  seeing 


Peters  Son 183 

that  Joe  felt  in  honor  bound  to  Hammer,  now  that  he  had 
engaged  him.  "We  can  put  somebody  else  in  if  he  goes 
to  cuttin'  up  too  many  didoes  and  capers." 

Joe  agreed  that  they  could,  and  gave  his  mother  a  great 
deal  of  comfort  and  assurance  by  his  cheerful  way  of  facing 
what  lay  ahead  of  him.  He  told  her  not  to  worry  on  his 
account,  and  not  to  come  too  often  and  wear  herself  out 
in  the  long  walk. 

"Look  after  the  chickens  and  things,  Mother,"  said  he, 
"  and  I'll  be  out  of  here  in  two  weeks  to  help  you  along. 
There's  ten  dollars  coming  to  you  from  Isom's ;  you  collect 
that  and  buy  yourself  some  things." 

He  told  her  of  the  order  that  he  had  given  Hammer  for 
the  retaining  fee,  and  asked  her  to  take  it  up. 

"I'll  make  it  up  to  you,  Mother,  when  I  get  this  thing 
settled  and  can  go  to  work  again,"  said  he. 

Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  but  no  trace  of  emotion  was  to 
be  marked  by  any  change  in  her  immobile  face. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  son,  it  all  belongs  to  you ! "  she  said. 

"Do  you  care  about  reading?"  the  colonel  inquired, 
scarcely  supposing  that  he  did,  considering  the  chances  which 
had  been  his  for  development  in  that  way. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  answered  for  Joe,  who  was  slow  and  deliber 
ative  of  speech,  and  always  stopped  to  weigh  his  answer  to 
a  question,  no  matter  how  obvious  the  reply  must  be. 

"  Oh,  Colonel  Price,  if  you  could  see  him ! "  said  she  proudly. 
"Before  he  was  ten  years  old  he'd  read  the  Cottage  Encyclo- 
pedy  and  the  Imitation  and  the  Bible  —  from  back  to  back! " 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you're  of  a  studious  mind,"  said 
the  colonel. 

As  often  as  Joe  had  heard  his  mother  boast  of  his  achieve 
ments  with  those  three  notable  books,  he  had  not  yet  grown 
hardened  to  it.  It  always  gave  him  a  feeling  of  foolishness, 
and  drowned  him  in  blushes.  Now  it  required  some  time  for 


184 Tlie  Bondboy 

him  to  disentangle  himself,  but  presently  he  looked  at  the 
colonel  with  a  queer  smile,  as  he  said: 

"  Mother  always  tells  that  on  me." 

"  It's  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  comforted  the  colonel, 
marking  his  confusion. 

"  And  all  the  books  he's  borrowed  since  then ! "  said  she, 
conveying  a  sense  of  magnitude  by  the  stress  of  her  expres 
sion.  "He  strained  his  eyes  so  when  he  was  seventeen  readin' 
Shuckspur's  writings  that  the  teacher  let  him  have  I  thought 
he'd  have  to  put  on  specs." 

"  My  daughter  and  I  have  a  considerable  number  of  books," 
said  the  colonel,  beginning  to  feel  about  for  a  bit  more  ele 
gance  in  his  method  of  expression,  as  a  thing  due  from  one 
man  of  culture  to  another,  "  and  if  you  will  express  your 
desires  I'm  sure  we  shall  be  glad  to  supply  you  if  the  scope 
of  our  library  permits." 

Joe  thanked  him  for  the  offer,  that  strange  little  smile 
coming  over  his  face  again. 

"  It  wouldn't  take  much  of  a  library,  Colonel  Price,  to  have 
a  great  many  books  in  it  that  I've  never  read,"  said  he.  "  I 
haven't  been  easy  enough  in  my  mind  since  this  thing  came  up 
to  think  about  reading  —  I've  got  a  book  in  niv  pocket  that 
I'd  forgotten  all  about  until  you  mentioned  books."  He  lifted 
the  skirt  of  his  short  coat,  his  pocket  bulging  from  the  volume 
wedged  into  it.  "I'll  have  a  job  getting  it  out,  too,"  said  he. 

"'It  don't  seem  to  be  a  very  heavy  volume,"  smiled  the 
colonel.  "What  work  is  it?" 

"  It's  the  Book,"  said  Joe. 

Colonel  Price  laid  his  hand  on  the  lad's  shoulder  and  looked 
him  straight  in  the  face. 

"Then  you've  got  by  you  the  sum  and  substance  of  all 
knowledge,  and  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  all  philosophy," 
said  he.  "  With  that  work  in  your  hand  you  need  no  other, 
for  it's  the  father  of  all  books." 


Peters  Son 185 

"  I've  thought  that  way  about  it  myself  sometimes,"  said 
Joe,  as  easy  and  confident  in  his  manner  with  the  colonel, 
who  represented  a  world  to  which  he  was  a  stranger  from 
actual  contact,  as  a  good  swimmer  in  water  beyond  his  depth. 

"  But  if  you  happen  to  be  coming  over  this  way  in  a  day 
or  two  you  might  stop  in  if  it  wouldn't  trouble  you,  and  I 
could  name  over  to  you  a  few  books  that  I've  been  wanting 
to  read  for  a  long  time." 

"  I  intend  to  lighten  your  brief  period  of  confinement  as 
much  as  it  is  in  my  power  to  do,"  declared  the  colonel,  "  and 
I  can  speak  for  my  daughter  when  I  say  that  she  will  share 
my  anxiety  to  make  you  as  comfortable  as  human  hands  can 
make  you  in  this  place,  Joe.  We'll  come  over  and  cheer  you 
every  little  while." 

Mrs.  Newbolt  had  sat  by,  like  one  who  had  been  left  behind 
at  a  way-station  by  an  express-train,  while  the  colonel  and 
Joe  had  talked.  The}7  had  gone  beyond  her  limited  powers ; 
there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  wait  for  them  to  come 
back.  Now  the  colonel  had  reached  her  point  of  contact 
again. 

"  You'll  be  rewarded  for  your  kindness  to  the  widow's  son," 
said  she,  nodding  her  head  earnestly,  tears  shining  in  her  eyes. 

When  he  was  leaving,  Colonel  Price  felt  that  he  must  make 
one  more  effort  to  induce  Joe  to  discharge  Hammer  and  put 
his  case  into  the  hands  of  a  more  competent  man.  Joe  was 
firm  in  his  determination  to  give  Hammer  a  chance.  He  was 
a  little  sensitive  on  the  matter  under  the  rind,  the  colonel 
could  see. 

"  If  I  was  to  hire  the  best  lawyer  I  could  find,  Colonel 
Price,  people  would  say  then  that  I  was  guilty,  sure  enough," 
said  Joe.  "  They'd  say  I  was  depending  more  on  the  lawyer' 
than  myself  to  come  clear.  Well,  colonel,  you  know  that 
isn't  the  case." 

That  seemed  to  settle  it,  at  least  for  the  present.     The 


18G  The  Bondboi/ 


colonel  summoned  the  sheriff,  who  took  Joe  to  his  cell.  As 
the  colonel  and  Mrs.  Xewbolt  passed  out,  Attorney  Hammer 
appeared,  presenting  his  order  for  the  money. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  carried  her  savings  with  her.  When  she  had 
paid  Hammer  she  had  sixty  cents  left  in  her  calloused  palm. 

"That's  egg  money,"  said  she,  tying  it  in  the  corner  of 
her  handkerchief.  "Oh,  colonel,  I  forgot  to  ask  the  sheriff, 
but  do  you  reckon  they'll  give-  my  Joe  enough  to  eat?" 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Hammer  officiously. 

Hammer  was  a  large,  soft  man  in  an  alpaca-coat  and  white 
shirt  without  a  collar.  His  hair  was  very  black  and  exceed 
ingly  greasy,  and  brushed  down  upon  his  skull  until  it 
glittered,  catching  every  ray  of  light  in  his  vicinity  like  a 
bucket  of  oil.  lie  walked  in  long  strides,  with  a  sliding 
motion  of  the  feet,  and  carried  his  hands  with  the  palms 
turned  outward,  as  if  ready  instantly  to  close  upon  any  case, 
fee,  or  emolument  which  came  in  passing  contact  with  him, 
even  though  it  might  be  on  its  way  to  somebody  else. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  was  not  unfavorably  impressed  with  him,  for* 
he  seemed  very  officious  and  altogether  domineering  in  the 
presence  of  the  sheriff,  but  her  opinion  may  have  been  influ 
enced  perhaps  by  Joe's  determination  to  have  him  whether  or 
no.  She  thanked  him  for  his  promise  of  good  offices  in  Joe's 
behalf,  and  he  took  her  arm  and  impeded  her  greatly  in  her 
progress  down  the  steps. 

After  Mrs.  Xewbolt  had  taken  some  refreshment  in  the 
colonel's  house,  she  prepared  to  return  home. 

"If  I  had  a  hoss,  madam,"  said  the  colonel,  "I'd  hitch  up 
and  carry  you  home.  But  I  don't  own  a  hoss,  and  I  haven't 
owned  one  for  nine  years,  since  the  city  grew  up  so  around 
me  I  had  to  sell  off  mv  land  to  keep  the  taxes  from  eatin'  me 
up.  If  I  did  own  a  hoss  now,"  he  laughed,  "  I'd  have  no  place 
to  keep  him  except  under  the  bed,  like  they  do  the  houn'-dogs 
back  in  Kentucky." 


Peters  Son  187 


She  made  light  of  the  walk,  for  Joe's  bright  and  sanguine 
carriage  had  lightened  her  sorrow.  She  had  hope  to  walk 
home  with,  and  no  wayfarer  ever  traveled  in  more  pleasant 
company. 

The  colonel  and  his  daughter  pressed  her  to  make  their 
home  her  resting-place  when  in  town,  even  inviting  her  to  take 
up  her  abode  there  until  the  trial.  This  generous  hospitality 
she  could  not  accept  on  account  of  the  "  critters  "  at  home 
which  needed  her  daily  care,  and  the  eggs  which  had  to  be 
gathered  and  saved  and  sold,  all  against  the  happy  day 
when  her  boy  Joe  would  walk  out  free  and  clear  from  the 
door  of  the  county  jail. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THK     SUNBEAM     OX     THK     WALL 

TIIK  sheriff  was  a  mild-mannered  man,  whose  head  was 
shaped  like  the  end  of  a  watermelon.  His  hair  was 
close-cut  and  very  thin  at  the  top,  due  to  the  fact  that  all 
the  nourishing  substances  both  inside  and  outside  his  head,  or 
any  way  appertaining  thereto,  went  into  the  maintenance  of 
the  sheriff's  mustache,  which  was  at  least  twice  as  large  as 
Bill  Frost's. 

This,  of  course,  was  as  it  should  have  been,  for  even  the 
poorest  kind  of  a  sheriff  is  more  than  twice  as  important  as 
the  very  best  sort  of  constable.  In  those  davs  it  was  the 
custom  for  sheriffs  in  that  part  of  the  country  to  train  up 
these  prodigious  mustaches,  perhaps  in  the  belief  that  such 
adornments  lent  them  the  appearance  of  competence  and 
valor,  of  which  endowments  nature  had  given  them  no  other 
testimonial.  In  any  event  it  is  known  that  many  a  two-inch 
sheriff  took  his  stand  behind  an  eight-inch  mustache,  and 
walked  boldly  in  the  honor  of  his  constituents. 

The  sheriif  of  Shelbvville  was  a  type  of  this  class,  both  in 
mental  depth  and  facial  adornment.  lie  was  exceedingly  jeal 
ous  of  his  power,  and  it  was  his  belief  that  too  many  liberties 
permitted  a  prisoner,  and  too  many  favors  shown,  acted  in 
contravention  of  the  law's  intent  as  interpreted  by  the  prose 
cuting  attorney;  namely,  that  a  person  under  the  cloud  of 
accusation  should  be  treated  as  guilty  until  able  to  prove 
himself  innocent.  Therefore  the  sheriff  would  not  allow  Joe 
Xewbolt  to  leave  his  cell  to  meet  visitors  after  his  arraign 
ment. 

The  meeting  between  the  prisoner  and  his  mother  in  the 

1SS 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Watt 189 

office  of  the  jail  was  to  be  the  last  of  that  sort;  all  who  came 
in  future  must  see  him  at  the  door  of  his  cell.  That  was  the 
rule  laid  down  to  Joe  when  he  parted  from  his  mother  and 
Colonel  Price  that  day. 

As  a  cell  in  a  prison-house,  perhaps  Joe's  place  of  confine 
ment  was  fairly  comfortable.  It  was  situated  in  the  basement 
of  the  old  court-house,  where  there  was  at  least  light  enough 
to  contemplate  one's  misery  by,  and  sufficient  air  to  set  one 
longing  for  the  fields.  There  was  but  one  other  prisoner,  a 
horse-thief,  waiting  for  trial. 

This  loquacious  fellow,  who  was  lodged  directly  across  the 
corridor,  took  great  pains  to  let  Joe  see  the  admiration  and 
esteem  in  which  he  held  him  on  account  of  the  distinguished 
charge  under  which  he  was  confined.  He  annoyed  Joe  to  such 
extent  that  he  asked  the  sheriff  that  evening  to  shift  them 
about  if  possible. 

"  Well,  I'll  move  him  if  you  say  so,  but  I  left  him  there 
because  I  thought  he'd  be  company  for  you,"  said  the  sheriff. 
"I  don't  mind  talkin'  in  this  jail  when  there's  no  more  than 
two  in  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk,"  said  Joe. 

So  the  horse-thief  was  removed  to  the  farther  end  of  the 
corridor,  where  he  kept  up  a  knocking  on  the  bars  of  his  cell 
during  the  early  hours  of  the  night,  and  then  turned  off  his 
diversion  by  imitating  the  sound  of  a  saw  on  steel,  which  he 
could  do  with  his  tongue  against  his  teeth  with  such  realism 
as  to  bring  the  sheriff  down  in  his  nightshirt,  with  a  lantern 
in  one  hand  and  a  shotgun  in  the  other. 

Joe's  second  night  in  jail  passed  very  much  like  the  first, 
when  they  had  brought  him  there  all  bewildered  and  dazed. 
There  was  a  grated  window  in  the  wall  above  his  reach, 
through  which  he  could  see  the  branches  of  an  elm-tree,  blow 
ing  bare  of  leaves ;  beyond  that  a  bit  of  sky.  Joe  sat  on  the 
edge  of  his  cot  that  second  night  a  long  time  after  the  stars 


190 The   liondboii 

fame  out,  ga/ing  up  at  the  bar-broken  bit  of  sky,  review 
ing  the  events  leading  up  to  his  situation. 

There  was  no  resentment  in  him  against  the  jury  of  his 
neighbors  whose  finding  had  sent  him  to  jail  under  the  cloud 
of  that  terrible  accusation  ;  he  harbored  no  illt'eeling  for  tin- 
busy,  prying  little  coroner,  who  had  questioned  him  so  im 
pertinently.  There  was  one  person  alone,  in  the  whole 
world  of  men.  to  blame,  and  that  was  Curtis  Morgan.  He 
could  not  have  been  far  away  on  the  day  of  the  inquest; 
news  of  the  tragic  outcome  of  Ollic's  attempt  to  join  him 
must  have  traveled  to  his  ears. 

Yet  he  had  not  come  forward  to  take  the  load  of  suspicion 
from  .Toe's  shoulders  by  confessing  the  treacherous  thing  that 
he  had  plotted.  He  need  not  have  revealed  the  complete 
story  of  his  trespass  upon  the  honor  of  Isom  Chase,  thought 
floe;  he  could  have  saved  Ollie's  name  before  the  neighbors, 
and  yet  relieved  Joe  of  all  suspicion.  Xow  that  Isom  was 
dead,  he  could  have  married  her.  Uut  Morgan  had  not  come. 
lie  was  a  coward  as  well  as  a  rascal.  It  was  more  than  likely 
that,  in  fear  of  being  found  out,  he  had  fled  away. 

And  suppose  that  he  never  came  back;  suppose  that  Olhe 
should  not  elect  to  stand  forth  and  explain  the  hidden  part 
of  that  night's  tragedy?  She  could  not  be  expected,  within 
reason,  to  do  this.  Even  the  thought  that  she  might  weaken 
and  do  so  was  abhorrent  to  Joe.  It  was  not  a  woman's  part 
to  make  a  sacrifice  like  that ;  the  world  did  not  expect  it  of 
her.  It  rested  with  Morgan,  the  traitor  to  hospitality; 
Morgan,  the  ingratiating  scoundrel,  to  come  forward  and 
set  him  free.  Morgan  alone  could  act  honorably  in  that 
clouded  case;  but  if  he  should  elect  to  remain  hidden  and 
silent,  who  would  be  left  to  answer  but  Joe  Xewbolt? 

And  should  he  reveal  the  thing  that  would  bring  him 
liberty?  Was  freedom  more  precious  than  his  honor,  and  the' 
honor  of  a  poor,  shrinking,  deluded  woman? 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall  191 

No.  He  was  bound  by  a  gentleman's  obligation ;  self- 
assumed,  self-appointed.  He  could  not  tell. 

But  what  a  terrible  situation,  what  an  awful  outlook  for 
him  in  such  event !  They  hung  men  for  murder  on  the  j  ail- 
yard  gallows,  with  a  knot  of  rope  behind  the  left  ear  and  a 
black  cap  over  the  face.  And  such  a  death  left  a  stain  upon 
the  name  that  nothing  would  purify.  It  was  an  attainder 
upon  generations  unborn. 

•Joe  walked  his  cell  in  the  agony  of  his  sudden  and  acute 
understanding  of  the  desperate  length  to  which  this  thing 
might  carry  him.  Hammer  had  protested,  with  much  show 
of  certainty,  that  he  would  get  him  off  without  much  difficulty. 
But  perhaps  Hammer  was  counting  on  him  to  reveal  what 
he  had  kept  to  himself  at  the  inquest.  What  should  he  do 
about  that  in  his  relations  with  Hammer?  Should  he  tell 
him  about  Morgan,  and  have  him  set  men  on  his  track  to 
drag  him  back  and  make  him  tell  the  truth?  Granting  that 
they  found  him,  who  was  there  to  make  him  speak? 

Could  not  Morgan  and  Ollie,  to  cover  their  own  shame  and 
blame,  form  a  pact  of  silence  or  denial  and  turn  back  his 
good  intentions  in  the  form  of  condemnation  upon  his  own 
head?  How  improbable  and  unworthy  of  belief  his  tale,  with 
its  reservations  and  evasions,  would  sound  to  a  jury  with 
Morgan  and  Ollie  silent. 

The  fright  of  his  situation  made  him  feverish ;  he  felt  that 
he  could  tear  at  the  walls  with  his  hands,  and  scream,  and 
scream  until  his  heart  would  burst.  He  was  unmanned  there 
in  the  dark.  He  began  to  realize  this  finally  after  his  frenzy 
had  thrown  him  into  a  fever.  He  gave  over  his  pacing  of 
the  little  cell,  and  sat  down  again  to  reason  and  plan. 

Hammer  had  made  so  much  talk  about  the  papers  which 
he  would  get  ready  that  Joe  had  been  considerably  impressed. 
He  saw  now  that  it  would  require  something  more  than  papers 
to  make  people  understand  that  he  had  a  gentleman's  reason, 


192 The   Bondboy 

and  not  a  thief's,  for  concealing  what  they  had  pressed  him 
to  reveal. 

There  was  a  woman  first,  and  that  was  about  all  that  Joe 
could  make  of  the  situation  up  to  that  time.  She  must  he 
protected,  even  though  unworthy.  None  knew  of  that  taint 
upon  her  but  himself  and  the  fugitive  author  of  it,  but  Joe 
could  not  bring  himself  to  contemplate  liberty  bought  at  the 
price  of  her  public  degradation.  This  conclusion  refreshed 
him,  and  dispelled  the  phantoms  from  his  hot  brain. 

After  the  sounds  of  the  town  had  fallen  quiet,  and  the 
knocking  of  feet  on  the  pavement  along  his  prison  wall  had 
ceased,  Joe  slept.  He  woke  steady,  and  himself  again,  long 
before  he  could  see  the  sun,  yellow  on  the  boughs  of  the 
elm-tree. 

The  sheriff  furnished  him  a  piece  of  comb,  and  he  smoothed 
his  hair  by  guess,  a  desperate  character,  such  as  he  was 
accounted  by  the  officer,  not  being  allowed  the  luxury  of  a 
mirror.  One  might  lick  the  quicksilver  from  the  back  of  a 
mirror,  or  open  an  artery  with  a  fragment  of  it,  or  even 
pound  the  glass  and  swallow  it.  Almost  anything  was  nicer 
than  hanging,  so  the  sheriff  said. 

Scant  as  the  food  had  been  at  Isom's  until  his  revolt  had 
forced  a  revision  of  the  old  man's  lifelong  standard,  Joe  felt 
that  morning  after  his  second  jail  breakfast  that  lie  would 
have  welcomed  even  a  hog-jowl  and  beans.  The  sheriff  was 
allowed  but  forty  cents  a  day  for  the  maintenance  of  each 
prisoner,  and,  counting  out  the  twenty-five  cents  profit  which 
he  felt  as  a  politician  in  good  standing  to  be  his  due,  the 
prisoners'  picking  was  very  lean  indeed. 

That  morning  Joe's  breakfast  had  been  corn-pone,  cold, 
with  no  lubricant  to  ease  it  down  the  lane.  There  had  been 
a  certain  squeamish  liquid  in  addition,  which  gave  off  the 
smell  of  a  burning  straw-stack,  served  in  a  large  tin  cup. 
Joe  had  not  tasted  it,  but  his  nose  had  told  him  that  it  was 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 193 

"  wheat  coffee,"  a  brew  which  his  mother  had  made  sometimes 
in  the  old  days  of  their  darkest  adversity. 

Joe  knew  from  the  experience  of  the  previous  day  that 
there  would  be  nothing  more  offered  to  fortify  the  stomach 
until  evening.  The  horse-thief  called  up  from  his  end  of  the 
jail,  asking  Joe  how  he  liked  the  fare. 

Reserved  as  Joe  was  disposed  to  be  toward  him,  he  ex 
pressed  himself  somewhat  fully  on  the  subject  of  the  sheriff's 
cuisine.  The  horse-thief  suggested  a  petition  to  the  county 
court  or  a  letter  to  the  sheriff's  political  opponent.  He  said 
that  his  experience  in  jails  had  been  that  a  complaint  on  the 
food  along  about  election  time  always  brought  good  results. 
Joe  was  not  interested  in  the  matter  to  that  extent.  He 
told  the  fellow  that  he  did  not  expect  to  be  a  permanent 
occupant  of  the  jail. 

''You  think  37ou'll  go  down  the  river  for  a  double  nine?" 
he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Joe. 

"  To  the  pen  for  life,  kid ;  that's  what  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Joe  gloomily. 

"  Well,  say.  I  tell  you,  if  they  give  you  the  other,"  said  the 
friendly  thief,  lifting  his  naturally  high  voice  to  make  it  carry 
along  the  echoing  passage,  "  you'll  git  plenty  to  eat,  and 
three  times  a  day,  too.  When  they  put  a  feller  in  the  death- 
cell  they  pass  in  the  finest  chuck  in  the  land.  You  know, 
if  a  feller's  got  a  smart  lawyer  he  can  keep  up  that  line  of 
eatin'  for  maybe  two  or  three  years  by  appealin'  his  case 
and  dodges  like  that." 

"  I  don't  want  to  talk,"  said  Joe. 

"Oh,  all  right,  kid,"  said  the  thief  flippantly.  Then  he 
rattled  his  grated  door  to  draw  Joe's  attention. 

"  But,  'y  God,  kid,  the  day's  comin'  to  you  when  you  will 
want  to  talk,  and  when  you'd  give  the  teeth  out  of  your 
mouth,  and  nearly  the  eyes  out  of  your  head,  for  the  sound 


104  The  Boiulboy 


of  a  friendly  human  voice  aimed  at  you.  Let  'em  take  you 
off  down  the  river  to  Jeff'  City  and  put  you  behind  them 
tall  walls  once,  where  the  best  you  bear's  a  cuss  from  a 
guard,  and  v  here  you  march  along  with  your  hands  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  man  in  front  of  you;  and  another  one  be 
hind  YOU  does  the  same  to  you,  and  their  eyes  all  down 
and  their  fact's  the  color  of  corpses,  and  then  you'll  know! 

"You'll  hear  them  old  fellers,  them  long-timers,  whispcrin' 
in  the  night,  talkin'  to  theirselves,  and  it'll  sound  to  you  like 
wind  in  the  grass.  And  you'll  think  of  grass  and  trees  and 
things  like  that  on  the  outside,  and  you'll  feel  like  you  want 
to  ram  your  head  ag'in'  the  wall  and  yell.  Maybe  you'll 
do  it  —  plenty  of  'em  docs- — and  then  they'll  give  you  the 
water-cure,  they'll  force  it  down  YOU  with  a  hose  till  you  think 
you'll  bust.  I  tell  you.  kid.  I  knotc,  'y  God!  I've  been  there 
—  but  not  for  no  double-nine  like  they'll  give  you." 

The  man's  voice  seemed  to  be  hanging  and  sounding  yet 
in  the  corridor,  even  after  he  was  silent,  his  cruel  picture 
standing  in  distorted  fancy  before  Joe's  eyes.  Joe  wiped  the 
sweat  from  his  forehead,  breathing  through  his  open  mouth. 

"Well,  maybe  they  won't,  though,"  said  the  fellow,  resum 
ing  as  if  after  considering  it,  "maybe  they'll  give  you  the 
quick  and  painless,  I  don't  know." 

Joe  had  been  standing  at  his  cell  door,  drawn  to  listen  ttf 
the  lecture  of  his  fellow  prisoner,  terrible,  hopeless,  as  it 
sounded  in  his  cars.  Now  he  sat  on  his  bedside  again,  feeling 
that  this  was  indeed  a  true  forecast  of  his  own  doom.  The 
sun  seemed  already  shut  out  from  him  in  the  morning  of 
his  day,  the  prison  silence  settling,  never  to  be  broken  again 
in  those  shadows  where  shuttling  men  filed  by,  with  eyes  down 
cast  and  faces  gray,  like  the  faces  of  the  dead. 

Life  without  liberty  would  be  a  barren  field,  he  knew;  but 
liberty  without  honor  would  yield  no  sweeter  fruit.  And  who 
was  there  in  the  world  of  honorable  men  to  respect  a  coward 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 195 

who  had  saved  his  own  skin  from  the  fire  by  stripping  a  frail 
woman's  back  to  the  brand?  A  gentleman  couldn't  do  it, 
said  Joe,  at  the  end,  coming  back  from  his  sweating  race 
with  fear  to  the  starting-place,  a  good  deal  cooled,  not  a 
little  ashamed. 

Let  them  use  him  as  they  might ;  he  would  stand  by  his 
first  position  in  the  matter.  He  would  have  to  keep  on  lying, 
as  he  had  begun ;  but  it  would  be  repeating  an  honorable 
lie,  and  no  man  ever  went  to  hell  for  that. 

The  sun  was  coming  through  the  high  cell  window,  broad 
ening  its  oblique  beam  upon  the  wall.  Looking  up  at  it,  Joe 
thought  that  it  must  be  mid-morning.  Now  that  his  panic 
was  past,  his  stomach  began  to  make  a  gnawing  and  insistent 
demand  for  food.  Many  a  heavy  hour  must  march  by, 
thought  he,  before  the  sheriff  came  with  his  beggarly  por 
tion.  He  felt  that  in  case  he  should  be  called  upon  to  endure 
imprisonment  long  he  must  fall  away  to  a  skeleton  and  die. 

In  his  end  of  the  corridor  the  horse-thief  was  still,  and  Joe 
was  glad  of  it.  No  matter  how  earnestly  he  might  come  td 
desire  the  sound  of  a  human  voice  in  time,  he  did  not  Avant  to 
hear  the  horse-thief's  then,  nor  any  other  that  prophesied 
such  disquieting  things. 

There  was  a  barred  gate  across  the  corridor  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  which  led  up  to  the  sheriff's  office.  Joe's  heart 
jumped  with  the  hope  that  it  was  his  mother  coming  when 
he  heard  the  key  in  the  lock  and  voices  at  the  grating. 

"  Right  down  there,  to  the  right,"  the  sheriff  was  directing. 
"When  you  want  to  leave  just  come  here  and  rattle  the 
lock.  I  can't  take  no  chances  bringin'  such  desperate  fellers 
as  him  up  to  the  office,  colonel.  You  can  see  that  as  well 
as  me." 

What  Colonel  Price  replied  Joe  could  not  hear,  for  his 
low-modulated  voice  of  culture  was  like  velvet  beside  a  horse- 
blanket  compared  to  the  sheriff's. 


196  The  Bondboy 


"  I'm  over  on  this  side,  colonel,  sir,"  said  Joe  before  he 
could  see  him. 

And  then  the  colonel  stepped  into  the  light  which  came 
through  the  cell  window,  bringing  with  him  one  who  seemed 
as  fair  to  Joe  in  that  somber  place  as  the  bright  creatures 
who  stood  before  Jacob  in  Bethel  that  night  he  slept  with 
his  head  upon  a  stone. 

"This  is  my  daughter,"  said  Colonel  Price.  "We  called 
in  to  kind  of  cheer  you  up." 

She  offered  Joe  her  hand  between  the  bars;  his  went  for 
ward  to  meet  it  gropingly,  for  it  lacked  the  guidance  of  his 
eyes. 

Joe  was  honey-bound,  like  an  eager  bee  in  the  heart  of  some 
great  golden  flower,  tangled  and  leashed  in  a  thousand 
strands  of  her  hair.  The  lone  sunbeam  of  his  prison  had 
slipped  beyond  the  lintel  of  his  low  door,  as  if  it  had  timed 
its  coming  to  welcome  her,  and  now  it  lay  like  a  hand  in 
benediction  above  her  brow. 

Her  hair  was  as  brown  as  wild  honey;  a  golden  glint  lay 
in  it  here  and  there  under  the  sun,  like  the  honeycomb.  A 
smile  kindled  in  her  brown  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him,  and 
ran  out  to  the  corners  of  them  in  little  crinkles,  then  moved 
slowly  upon  her  lips.  Her  face  was  quick  with  the  eagerness 
of  youth,  and  she  was  tall. 

"  I'm  surclv  beholden  to  you,  Miss  Price,  for  this  favor," 
said  Joe,  lapsing  into  the  Kentucky  mode  of  speech,  "  and 
I'm  ashamed  to  be  caught  in  such  a  place  as  this." 

"  You  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  said  she ;  "  we  know 
you  arc  innocent." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  Miss  Price,"  said  he  with  quaint,  old 
courtesy  that  came  to  him  from  some  cavalier  of  Cromwell's 
day. 

"  I  thought  you'd  better  meet  Alice,"  explained  the  colonel, 
"and  get  acquainted  with  her,  for  young  people  have  tastes 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 197 

in  common  that  old  codgers  like  me  have  outgrown.  She 
might  see  some  way  that  I  would  overlook  to  make  you  more 
comfortable  here  during  the  time  you  will  be  obliged  to  wait." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Joe,  hearing  the  colonel's  voice,  but  not 
making  much  out  of  what  he  was  saying. 

He  was  thinking  that  out  of  the  gloom  of  his  late  cogita 
tions  she  had  come,  like  hope  hastening  to  refute  the  argument 
of  the  horse-thief.  His  case  could  not  be  so  despairing  with 
one  like  her  believing  in  him.  It  was  a  matter  beyond  a  person 
such  as  a  horse-thief,  of  course.  One  of  a  finer  nature  could 
understand. 

"  Father  spoke  of  some  books,"  she  ventured ;  "  if  you 
will " 

Her  voice  was  checked  suddenly  by  a  sound  which  rose 
out  of  the  farther  end  of  the  corridor  and  made  her  start 
and  clutch  her  father's  arm.  Joe  pressed  his  face  against 
the  bars  and  looked  along  at  his  fellow  prisoner,  who  was 
dragging  his  tin  cup  over  the  bars  of  his  cell  door  with  rapid 
strokes. 

When  the  thief  saw  that  he  had  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
visitors,  he  thrust  his  arm  out  and  beckoned  to  the  colonel. 
"  Mister,  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do  me  a  little  turn  of  a  favor," 
he  begged  in  a  voice  new  to  Joe,  so  full  of  anguish,  so  tremu 
lous  and  weak.  "  I  want  you  to  carry  out  to  the  world  and 
put  in  the  papers  the  last  message  of  a  dyin'  man!" 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  you  poor  wretch?  "  asked  the 
colonel,  moved  to  pity. 

"Don't  pay  any  attention  to  him,"  advised  Joe;  "he's 
only  acting  up.  He's  as  strong  as  I  am.  I  think  he  wants 
to  beg  from  you." 

The  colonel  turned  away  from  him  to  resume  his  conference 
with  Joe,  and  the  horse-thief  once  more  rattled  his  cup  across 
the  bars. 

"That  noise  is  very  annoying,"  said  the  colonel,  turning 


198  Tlic  llondbo?/ 


to  the  man  tartly.     "Stop  it  now,  before  I  call  the  sheriff!" 

"  Friend,  it's  a  starvin'  man  that's  appealin'  to  you,''  said 
the  prisoner,  "it's  a  man  that  ain't  had  a  full  meal  in  three 
wet'ks.  Ask  that  gentleman  what  we  git  here,  let  him  tell  you 
what  this  here  sheriff  that's  up  for  election  agin  serves  to  us 
poor  fellers.  Corn  dodger  for  breakfast,  so  cold  you  could 
keep  fish  on  it.  and  as  hard  as  the  rocks  in  this  wall!  That's 
what  we  git,  and  that's  all  we  git.  Ask  your  friend." 

"Is  he  telling  the  truth?"  asked  the  colonel,  looking  curi 
ously  at  Joe. 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is,  colonel,  sir." 

"  I'll  talk  to  him,"  said  the  colonel. 

In  a  moment  he  was  listening  to  the  horse-thief's  earnest 
relation  of  the  hardships  which  he  had  suffered  in  the  Shelby- 
ville  jail,  and  Joe  and  Alice  were  standing  face  to  face,  with 
less  than  a  yard's  space  between  them,  but  a  barrier  there 
as  insuperable  as  an  alp. 

lie  wanted  to  say  something  to  cause  her  to  speak  again, 
for  her  low  voice  was  as  wonderful  to  him  as  the  sound  of 
some  strange  instrument  moved  to  unexpected  music  by  a 
touch  in  the  dark.  lie  saw  her  looking  down  the  corridor, 
and  swiftly  around  her,  as  if  afraid  of  what  lav  in  the  shad 
ows  of  the  cells,  afraid  of  the  memories  of  old  crimes  which 
thev  held,  and  the  lingering  recollection  of  the  men  they  had 
contained. 

"  He'll  not  do  any  harm,  don't  be  afraid,"  said  he. 

"  Xo,  I'm  not,"  she  told  him,  drawing  a  little  nearer,  quite 
unconsciously,  he  knew,  as  she  spoke.  "I  was  thinking  how 
dreadful  it  must  be  here  for  you,  especially  in  the  night.  But 
it  will  not  be  for  long,"  she  cheered  him;  "we  know  they'll 
soon  set  you  free." 

"  I  suppose  a  person  would  think  a  guilty  man  would  suffer 
more  here  than  an  innocent  one,"  said  he,  "but  I  don't  think 
that's  so.  That  man  down  there  knows  he's  iroin"-  to  be 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 199 

sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  stealing  a  horse,  but  he  sings." 

She  was  looking  at  him,  a  little  cloud  of  perplexity  in  her 
eyes,  as  if  there  was  something  about  him  which  she  had  not 
looked  for  and  did  not  quite  understand.  She  blushed  when 
Joe  turned  toward  her,  slowly,  and  caught  her  eyes  at  their 
sounding. 

He  was  thinking  over  a  problem  new  to  him,  also  —  the 
difference  in  women.  There  was  Ollie,  who  marked  a  period 
in  his  life  when  he  began  to  understand  these  things,  dimly. 
Ollie  was  not  like  this  one  in  any  particular  that  he  could 
discover  as  common  between  them.  She  was  far  back  in  the 
past  today,  like  a  simple  lesson,  hard  in  its  hour,  but  con 
quered  and  put  by.  Here  was  one  as  far  above  Ollie  as  a' 
star. 

Miss  Price  began  to  speak  of  books,  reaching  out  with  a 
delicate  hesitancy,  as  if  she  feared  that  she  might  lead  into 
waters  too  deep  for  him  to  follow.  He  quickly  relieved  her 
of  all  danger  of  embarrassment  on  that  head  by  telling  her 
of  some  books  which  he  had  not  read,  but  wished  to  read,  hold 
ing  to  the  bars  as  he  talked,  looking  wistfully  toward  the 
spot  of  sunlight  which  was  now  growing  as  slender  as  a 
golden  cord  against  the  gray  wall.  His  eyes  came  back  to 
her  face,  to  find  that  look  of  growing  wonder  there,  to  see  her 
quick  blush  mount  and  consume  it  in  her  eyes  like  a  flame. 

"  You've  made  more  of  the  books  that  you've  read  than 
many  of  us  with  a  hundred  times  more,"  said  she  warmly. 
"  I'll  be  ashamed  to  mention  books  to  you  again." 

"  You  oughtn't  say  that,"  said  he,  hanging  his  head  in 
boyish  confusion,  feeling  that  same  sense  of  shyness  and  desire 
to  hide  as  came  over  him  when  his  mother  recounted  his 
youthful  campaign  against  the  three  books  on  the  Newbolt 
shelf. 

"  You  remember  what  you  get  out  of  them,"  she  nodded 
gravely,  "  I  don't." 


200  TJic 


"My  father  used  to  say  that  was  one  advantage  in  having 
a  few,"  said  he. 

The  colonel  joined  them  then,  the  loud-spoken  benediction 
of  the  horse-thief  following  him.  There  was  a  flush  of  indig 
nation  in  his  face  and  fire  in  his  eyes. 

"I'll  expose  the  scoundrel;  I'll  show  him  that  he  can't  rob 
both  the  county  and  the  helpless  men  that  misfortune  throws 
into  his  hands!"  the  colonel  declared. 

He  gave  his  hand  to  Joe  in  his  ceremonious  fashion. 

"  I've  got  some  pressing  business  ahead  of  me  with  the 
sheriff,"  he  said,  "and  we'll  be  going  along.  But  I'll  mana 


e 


to  come  over  every  few  days  and  bring  what  cheer  I  can  to 
you,  Joe." 

"Don't  put  yourself  out,"  said  Joe;  "but  I'll  be  mighty 
glad  to  see  you  any  time." 

"This  is  only  a  cloud  in  your  life,  boy;  it  will  pass,  and 
leave  your  sky  serene  and  bright,"  the  colonel  cheered. 

"I'll  see  how  many  of  the  books  that  you've  named  we 
have,"  said  Alice.  "  I'm  afraid  we  haven't  them  all." 

"  I'll  appreciate  anything  at  all,"  said  Joe. 

He  looked  after  her  as  far  as  his  eves  could  follow,  and 
then  he  listened  until  her  footsteps  died,  turning  his  head, 
checking  his  breath,  as  if  holding  his  very  life  poised  to  catch 
the  fading  music  of  some  exquisite  strain. 

When  she  was  quite  out  of  hearing,  he  sighed,  and  marked 
an  imaginary  line  upon  the  wall.  Her  head  had  reached  to 
there,  just  on  a  level  with  a  certain  bolt.  lie  measured  him 
self  against  it  to  see  where  it  struck  in  his  own  height.  It 
was  just  a  boy's  trick.  lie  blushed  when  he  found  himself 
at  it. 

He  sat  on  his  bedside  and  took  up  the  Book.  The  humor 
for  reading  seemed  to  have  passed  away  from  him  for  then. 
But  there  was  provender  for  thought,  new  thought,  splendid 
and  bright-colored.  lie  felt  that  lie  had  been  associating, 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall  201 

for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  with  his  own  kind.  He  never 
had  seen  Alice  Price  before  that  day,  for  their  lives  had  been 
separated  by  all  that  divides  the  eminent  from  the  lowly, 
the  rich  from  the  poor,  and  seeing  her  had  been  a  moving 
revelation.  She  had  come  into  his  troubled  life  and  soothed 
it,  marking  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten.  He  sat  there  think 
ing  of  her,  the  unopened  book  in  his  hand. 

How  different  she  was  from  Ollie,  the  wild  rose  clambering 
unkept  beside  the  hedge.  She  was  so  much  more  delicate  in 
form  and  face  than  Ollie  —  Ollie,  who —  There  was  a  sense 
of  sacrilege  in  the  thought.  He  must  not  name  her  with 
Ollie  ;  he  must  not  think  of  them  in  the  measure  of  comparison. 
Even  such  juxtaposition  was  defiling  for  Alice.  Ollie,  the 
unclean ! 

Joe  got  up  and  walked  his  cell.  How  uncouth  he  was, 
thought  he,  his  trousers  in  his  boot-tops,  his  coat  spare  upon 
his  growing  frame.  He  regarded  himself  with  a  feeling  of 
shame.  Up  to  that  time  he  never  had  given  his  clothing  any 
thought.  As  long  as  it  covered  him,  it  was  sufficient.  But 
it  was  different  after  seeing  Alice.  Alice!  What  a  soothing 
name ! 

Joe  never  knew  what  Colonel  Price  said  to  the  sheriff;  but 
after  the  little  gleam  of  sun  had  faded  out  of  his  cell,  and  the 
gnawings  of  his  stomach  had  become  painfully  acute,  his 
keeper  came  down  with  a  basket  on  his  arm.  He  took  from 
it  a  dinner  of  boiled  cabbage  and  beef,  such  as  a  healthy  man 
might  lean  upon  with  confidence,  and  the  horse-thief  came  in 
for  his  share  of  it,  also. 

When  the  sheriff  came  to  Joe's  cell  for  the  empty  dishes, 
he  seemed  very  solicitous  for  his  comfort  and  welfare. 

"Need  any  more  cover  on  your  bed,  or  anything?" 

No,  Joe  thought  there  was  enough  cover ;  and  he  did  not 
recall  in  his  present  satisfied  state  of  stomach,  that  his  cell 
lacked  any  other  comfort  that  the  sheriff  could  supply. 


202  TJic 


"  Well,  if  you  want  anything,  nil  you've  got  to  do  is  holler," 
said  the  sheriff'  in  a  friendly  way. 

There  is  nothing  equal  to  running  for  office  to  move  the 
love  of  a  man  for  his  fellows,  or  to  mellow  his  heart  to 
magnanimous  deeds. 

"  Say,''  called  the  horse-thief  in  voice  softened  by  the 
vapors  of  his  steaming  dinner,  kk  that  friend  of  yours  with  the 
whiskers  all  over  him  is  ace-high  over  here  in  this  end  of  the 
dump!  And  say,  friend,  they  could  keep  me  here  for  life 
if  they'd  send  purty  girls  like  that  one  down  here  to  see  me 
once  in  a  while.  You're  in  right,  friend ;  you  certainly  air 
in  right ! " 

Colonel  Price  had  kindled  a  fire  in  his  library  that  night, 
for  the  first  chill  of  frost  was  in  the  air.  lie  sat  in  medita 
tive  pose,  the  newspaper  spread  wide  and  crumpling  upon 
the  floor  beside  him  in  his  listlessly  swinging  hand.  The 
light  of  the  bla/ing  logs  was  laughing  in  his  glasses,  and  the 
soft  gleam  of  the  shaded  lamp  was  on  his  hair. 

Books  by  the  hundred  were  there  in  the  shelves  about  him. 
Old  books,  brown  in  the  dignity  of  age  and  service  to  genera 
tions  of  men:  new  books,  tucked  among  them  in  bright  colors, 
like  transient  blooms  in  the  homely  stability  of  garden  soil. 
There  was  a  long  oak  table,  made  of  native  lumber  and 
finished  in  its  natural  color,  smoke-brown  from  age,  like  the 
books:  and  there  was  Alice,  like  a  nimble  bee  skimming  the 
sweets  of  flowers,  flitting  here  and  there  in  this  scholar's 
sanctuary. 

Colonel  Price  looked  up  out  of  his  meditation  and  followed 
her  with  a  smile. 

"Have  you  found  them  all?"  he  asked. 

"I've  found  Milton  and  The  Lays  of  Ancient  Home  and 
Don  Quixote,  but  I  can't  find  the  Meditations  of  Marcus 
Aurdius"  said  she. 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 203 

"  Judge  Maxwell  has  it,"  he  nodded ;  "  he  carried  it  away 
more  than  a  month  ago.  It  was  the  first  time  he  ever  met 
an  English  translation,  he  said.  I  must  get  it  from  him ; 
he  has  a  remarkably  short  memory  for  borrowed  books." 

Alice  joined  him  in  the  laugh  over  the  judge's  shortcoming. 

"  He's  a  regular  old  dear ! "  she  said. 

"  Ah,  yes ;  if  he  was  only  f orty  years  younger,  Alice  — 
if  he  was  only  forty  years  younger ! "  the  colonel  sighed. 

"  I  like  him  better  the  way  he  is,"  said  she. 

"Where  did  that  boy  ever  hear  tell  of  Marcus  Aurelius?" 
he  wondered. 

"  I  don't  know."  She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  under 
stand  him,  he  seems  so  strange  and  deep.  He's  not  like  a  boy. 
You'd  think,  from  talking  with  him,  that  he'd  had  university 
advantages." 

"  It's  blood,"  said  the  colonel,  with  the  proud  swelling 
of  a  man  who  can  boast  that  precious  endowment  himself, 
"  you  can't  keep  it  down.  There's  no  use  talking  to  me  about 
this  equality  between  men  at  the  hour  of  birth  ;  it's  all  a  poetic 
fiction.  It  would  take  forty  generations  of  this  European 
scum  such  as  is  beginning  to  drift  across  to  us  and  taint  our 
national  atmosphere  to  produce  one  Joe  Newbolt!  And  he's 
got  blood  on  only  one  side,  at  that. 

"  But  the  best  in  all  the  Newbolt  generations  that  have 
gone  before  seem  to  be  concentrated  in  that  boy.  He'll  come 
through  this  thing  as  bright  as  a  new  bullet,  and  he'll  make 
his  mark  in  the  world,  too.  Marcus  Aurelius.  Well,  bless 
my  soul ! " 

"  Is  it  good?  "  she  asked,  stacking  the  books  which  she  had 
selected  on  the  table,  standing  with  her  hand  on  them,  looking 
down  at  her  smiling  father  with  serious  face. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  that  it  would  be  good  for  a  young  lady 
with  forty  beaus  and  unable  to  choose  among  them,  or  for 
a  frivolous  young  thing  with  three  dances  a  week  — 

14 


201 The  Roiulbo?/ 

"  Oh,  never  more  than  two  at  the  very  height  of  social 
dissipation  in  Shelby ville !"  she  laughed. 

lie  lifted  a  finger,  imposing  silence,  and  a  laugh  lurked  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Xo,  I'd  not  say  that  such  a  light-headed  creature  would 
find  much  fodder  in  the  ruminations  and  speculations  and 
wise  conclusions  of  our  respected  friend,  Marcus,"'  said  he. 
"  But  a  lad  like  Joe  Xewbolt,  with  a  pair  of  eyes  in  his  head 
like  a  prophet,  will  get  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  even  com 
fort,  out  of  that  book." 

"We  must  get  it  from  Judge  Maxwell,"  said  she 
conclusively. 

'"A  strange  lad,  a  strange  lad,"  reflected  the  colonel. 

"So  tall  and  strong,"  said  she.  "Why,  from  the  way  his 
mother  spoke  of  him,  I  expected  to  sec  a  little  fellow  with 
trousers  up  to  his  knees." 

She  sat  at  the  table  and  began  cutting  the  leaves  of  a  new 
magazine. 

Colonel  Price  lifted  his  paper,  smoothed  the  crumples  out 
of  it,  adjusted  the  focus  of  his  glasses,  and  resumed  reading 
the  county  news.  They  seemed  contented  and  happy  there, 
alone,  with  their  fire  in  the  chimney.  Fire  itself  is  a  compan 
ion.  It  is  like  youth  in  a  room. 

There  was  between  them  a  feeling  of  comradeship  and 
understanding  which  seldom  lives  where  youth  stands  on  one 
hand,  age  on  the  other.  Years  ago  Alice's  mother  had  gone 
beyond  the  storms  and  vexations  of  this  life.  Those  two 
remaining  of  the  little  family  had  drawn  together,  closing 
up  the  space  that  her  absence  had  made.  There  seemed  no 
disparity  of  years,  and  their  affection  and  fidelity  had  come 
to  be  a  community  pride. 

Alice  was  far  from  being  the  frivolous  young  thing  that 
her  father's  banter  indicated.  She  had  a  train  of  admirers, 
never  thinning  from  year  to  year,  to  be  certain,  for  it  had 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 205 

been  the  regular  fate  of  adolescent  male  Shelbyville  to  get 
itself  tangled  up  in  love  with  Alice  Price  ever  since  her  high- 
school  days.  Many  of  the  youngsters  soon  outgrew  the 
affection;  but  it  seemed  to  become  a  settled  and  permanent 
affliction  in  others,  threatening  to  incapacitate  them  from 
happiness,  according  to  their  young  view  of  it,  and  blast  their 
ambitions  in  the  face  of  the  world. 

Every  girl,  to  greater  or  less  extent,  has  her  courtiers  of 
that  kind.  Nature  has  arranged  this  sort  of  tribute  for  the 
little  queen-bees  of  humanity's  hives.  And  so  there  were  other 
girls  in  Shelbyville  who  had  their  train  of  beaus,  but  there 
was  none  quite  so  popular  or  so  much  desired  as  Alice  Price. 

Alice  was  considered  the  first  beauty  of  the  place.  Added 
to  this  primary  desirability  was  the  fact  that,  in  the  fine 
gradations  of  pedigrees  and  the  stringent  exactions  of  blood 
which  the  patrician  families  of  Shelbyville  drew,  Colonel  Price 
and  his  daughter  were  the  topmost  plumes  on  the  peacock 
of  aristocracy.  Other  young  ladies  seemed  to  make  all  haste 
to  assuage  the  pangs  of  at  least  one  young  man  by  marrying 
him,  and  to  blunt  the  hopes  of  the  rest  by  that  decisive  act. 
Not  so  Alice  Price.  She  was  frank  and  friendly,  as  eager 
for  the  laughter  of  life  as  any  healthy  young  Mroman  should 
be,  but  she  gave  the  young  men  kindly  counsel  when  they 
became  insistent  or  borcsome,  and  sent  them  away. 

Shelbyville  was  founded  by  Kentuckians ;  some  of  the  old 
State's  best  families  were  represented  there.  A  person's 
pedigree  was  his  credentials  in  the  society  of  the  slumbering 
little  town,  nestled  away  among  the  blue  hills  of  Missouri. 
It  did  not  matter  so  much  about  one's  past,  for  blood  will 
have  its  vagaries  and  outflingings  of  youthful  spirit ;  and  even 
less  what  the  future  promised,  just  so  there  was  blood  to 
vouch  for  him  at  the  present. 

Blood  had  not  done  a  great  deal  for  Shelbyville,  no  matter 
what  its  excellencies  in  social  and  political  life.  The  old  town 


206  The  Bondboy 


stood  just  about  us  it  was  finished,  sixty  years  and  more 
before  that  time.  Upstart  cities  had  sprung  up  not  far 
away,  throwing  Shelbyville  into  hopeless  shadow.  The  en 
tire  energies  of  its  pioneers  seemed  to  have  been  expended  in 
its  foundation,  leaving  them  too  much  exhausted  to  transmit 
anv  of  their  former  fire  and  strength  to  their  sons.  It  fol 
lowed  that  the  sons  of  Shelbyville  were  not  what  their  fathers 
had  been. 

Of  course,  there  were  exceptions  where  one  of  them  rose 
once  in  a  while  and  made  a  streak  across  the  state  or  national 
firmament.  Some  of  them  were  eminent  in  the  grave  profes 
sions  ;  most  of  them  were  conductors  of  street  cars  in  Kan 
sas  City,  the  nearest  metropolis.  There  was  not  room  in 
Shelbyville  for  all  its  sons  to  establish  themselves  at  law,  even 
if  they  had  all  been  equipped,  and  if  a  man  could  not  be  a 
lawyer  or  a  college  professor,  what  was  open  to  him,  indeed, 
but  conducting  a  street-car?  That  was  a  placid  life. 

It  is  remarkable  how  Kentuckians  can  maintain  the  breed 
of  their  horses  through  many  generations,  but  so  frequently 
fall  short  in  the  standard  of  their  sons.  Kentuckians  are 
only  an  instance.  The  same  might  be  said  of  kings. 

Not  understanding  her  exactions  in  the  matter,  nor  her 
broader  requirements,  Shelbyville  could  not  make  out  why 
Alice  Price  remained  unmated.  She  was  almost  twenty,  they 
said,  which  was  coming  very  close  to  the  age-limit  in  Shelby 
ville.  It  was  nothing  unusual  for  girls  to  marry  there  at 
seventeen,  and  become  grandmothers  at  thirty-seven. 

If  she  wanted  better  blood  than  she  could  find  in  Shelby 
ville,  the  old  gentlemen  said,  twisting  their  white  old  heads  in 
argumentative  finality,  she'd  have  to  go  to  the  nobility  of 
Europe.  Even  then  she'd  be  running  her  chances,  by  Ned ! 
They  grew  indignant  when  she  refused  to  have  their  sons. 
They  took  it  up  with  the  colonel,  they  remonstrated,  they 
went  into  pedigrees  and  offered  to  produce  documents. 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall 207 

There  was  Shelley  Bryant's  father,  a  fine,  straight-backed 
old  gentleman  with  beard  as  white  as  the  plumage  of  a  dove. 
His  son  was  a  small,  red-faced,  sandy-haired,  pale-eyed  chap 
with  spaces  between  his  big  front  teeth.  He  traded  in  horses, 
and  sometimes  made  as  much  as  fifteen  dollars  on  a  Saturday. 
His  magnitude  of  glory  and  manly  dignity  as  compared  to 
his  father's  was  about  that  of  a  tin  pan  to  the  sun. 

When  Alice  refused  Shelley,  the  old  general  —  he  had  won 
the  title  in  war,  unlike  Colonel  Price  —  went  to  the  colonel 
and  laid  the  matter  off  with  a  good  deal  of  emphasis  and 
flourishing  of  his  knotted  black  stick.  If  a  woman  demanded 
blood,  said  the  general,  where  could  she  aspire  above  Shelley? 
And  beyond  blood,  what  was  there  to  be  considered  when  it 
came  to  marrying  and  breeding  up  a  race  of  men? 

Champion  that  he  was  of  blood  and  lineage,  Colonel  Price 
was  nettled  by  the  old  gentleman's  presumptuous  urging  of 
his  unlikely  son's  cause. 

"  I  am  of  the  opinion,  sir,"  Colonel  Price  replied,  with 
a  good  bit  of  hauteur  and  heat,  "  that  my  daughter  always 
has  given,  and  always  will  give,  the  preference  to  brains ! " 

General  Bryant  had  not  spoken  to  the  colonel  for  two 
months  after  that,  and  his  son  Shelley  had  proved  his  superi 
ority  by  going  off  to  Kansas  City  and  taking  a  job  reading 
gas-meters. 

Colonel  Price  went  to  the  mantel  and  filled  his  pipe  from 
the  tobacco-jar.  He  sat  smoking  for  a  little  while,  his  paper 
on  his  knee. 

"  The  lad's  in  deeper  trouble,  I'm  afraid,  than  he  under 
stands,"  said  he  at  last,  as  if  continuing  his  reflections  aloud, 
"  and  it  may  take  a  bigger  heave  to  pull  him  out  than  any 
of  us  think  right  now." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Alice,  looking  across  at  him  sud 
denly,  her  eyes  wide  open  with  concern.  "  I  understood  that 
this  was  just  a  preliminary  proceeding,  a  sort  of  formality 


208  The  Bondboy 


to  conform  to  the  legal  requirements,  and  that  he  would  be 
released  when  they  brought  him  up  before  Judge  Maxwell. 
At  least,  that  was  the  impression  that  he  gave  me  of  the  case 
himself." 

"Joe  is  an  unsophisticated  and  honest  lad,"  said  the 
colonel.  "  There  is  something  in  the  case  that  he  refused 
to  disclose  or  discuss  before  the  coroner's  jury,  they  say. 
I  don't  know  what  it  is,  but  it's  in  relation  to  the  quarrel 
between  him  and  Isom  Chase  which  preceded  the  tragedy.  He 
seems  to  raise  a  point  of  honor  on  it,  or  something.  I  heard 
them  say  this  afternoon  that  it  was  nothing  but  the  fear  that 
it  would  disclose  his  motive  for  the  crime.  They  say  he  was 
making  off  with  old  Chase's  money,  but  I  don't  believe  that." 

"  They're  wrong  if  they  think  that,"  said  she,  shaking  her 
head  seriously,  "  he'd  never  do  a  thing  like  that." 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  he  would.  But  they  found  a  bag  of 
money  in  the  room,  old  Chase  had  it  clamped  in  the  hook  of 
his  arm,  they  say." 

''Well,  I'm  sure  Joe  Xewbolt  never  had  his  hands  on  it, 
anyhow,"  said  she. 

"That's  right,"  approved  the  colonel,  nodding  in  slow 
thoughtfulness ;  "we  must  stand  up  for  him,  for  his  own  sake 
as  well  as  Peter's.  lie's  worthy." 

"And  he's  innocent.     Can't  you  see  that,  father?" 

"As  plain  as  daylight,"  the  colonel  said. 

The  colonel  stretched  out  his  legs  toward  the  blaze,  crossed 
his  feet  and  smoked  in  comfort. 

"  But  I  wonder  what  it  can  be  that  the  boy's  holding 
back?" 

"  He  has  a  reason  for  it,  whatever  it  is,"  she  declared. 

"  That's  as  certain  as  taxes,"  said  the  colonel.  "  He's  a 
remarkable  boy,  considering  the  chances  he's  had  —  bound 
out  like  a  nigger  slave,  and  beaten  and  starved,  I'll  warrant. 
A  remark-able  lad;  very,  very.  Don't  you  think  so,  Alice?" 


The  Sunbeam  on  the  Wall  209 

"  I  think  lie  is,  indeed,"  said  she. 

A  long  silence. 

A  stick  in  the  chimney  burned  in  two,  the  heavy  ends 
outside  the  dogs  dropped  down,  the  red  brands  pointing 
upward.  The  colonel  put  his  hand  to  his  beard  and  sat  in 
meditation.  The  wind  was  rising.  Now  and  then  it  sounded 
like  a  groan  in  the  chimney-top.  Gray  ashes  formed,  frost- 
like,  over  the  ardent  coals.  The  silence  between  them  held 
unbroken. 

Both  sat,  thought-wandering,  looking  into  the  fire 


CHAPTER  XIII 

UNTIL  THE  DAY  BREAK 

ALTHOUGH  Isom  Chase  had  been  in  his  grave  a  week, 
and  Judge  Little  had  been  cracking  his  coat-tails  over 
the  road  between  his  home  and  the  county-seat  daily,  the 
matter  of  the  will  and  the  administration  of  the  estate 
remained  as  in  the  beginning. 

Judge  Little  had  filed  the  will  for  probate,  and  had  made 
application  for  letters  of  administration,  which  the  court 
had  denied.  Under  the  terms  of  the  will,  it  was  pointed  out, 
he  was  empowered  to  act  in  that  capacity  only  in  case  of  the1 
testator's  death  before  the  majority  of  the  legatee.  The  date 
of  the  document  proved  that  the  heir  was  now  long  past  his 
majority,  and  the  only  interest  that  remained  to  Judge  Little 
in  the  matter  seemed  to  be  the  discovery  of  the  testator's 
unknown,  unseen,  and  unbelieved-in  son. 

If  Isom  ever  had  fathered  a  son,  indeed,  and  the  child  had 
died  in  infancy,  the  fact  had  slipped  the  recollection  of  the 
oldest  settler.  Perhaps  the  proof  of  that  mysterious  matter 
lay  in  the  hands  of  the  two  witnesses  to  Isom's  will.  They 
should  know,  if  anybody  knew,  people  said. 

One  of  these  witnesses,  Thomas  Cogshawl,  had  died  long 
since,  and  there  remained  behind  neither  trace  nor  remem 
brance  of  him  save  a  leaning,  yellowed  tombstone  carrying 
the  record  of  his  achievements  in  this  world.  They  were 
succinctly  recounted  in  two  words :  Born  and  Died.  His 
descendants  were  scattered,  his  family  dispersed. 

The  other  witness,  John  Owens,  was  in  the  county  poor- 
house,  deaf,  dumb,  and  blind,  his  children  dead,  his  money 

210 


Until  the  Day  Break 211 

gone.  Communication  with  him,  except  by  prods  and  thumps, 
had  been  out  of  the  question  for  ten  years  and  more. 

On  the  advice  of  her  neighbors,  Ollie  had  engaged  a  lawyer 
to  guard  her  interests,  and  make  a  fight  in  the  courts,  if  it 
came  to  that,  in  an  effort  to  retain  the  property.  It  was 
a  shame,  said  the  neighbors ;  Isom  never  had  a  son,  or,  if 
he  did  have  one,  he  had  no  business  to  do  any  such  sur 
reptitious  fathering. 

While  they  denounced  Isom,  Judge  Little  was  advertising 
in  the  metropolitan  papers  for  the  mysterious  legatee,  for 
there  is  no  man  so  faithful  to  his  trust  as  the  administrator 
of  another's  estate.  Although  the  property  had  not  yet 
succeeded  to  his  hands,  the  judge  was  proceeding  in  confi 
dence.  If  the  existence  of  Isom  Chase's  son  could  not  be 
proved,  neither  could  it  be  disproved. 

And  there  stood  the  will  in  Isom's  writing  as  plain  as  cow 
tracks,  naming  him  as  administrator.  It  would  all  work 
into  his  hands  at  the  end,  and  there  were  rewards  and  emolu 
ments  for  an  administrator  who  understood  his  business,  in 
that  estate. 

That  is  true  in  the  case  of  any  executor  in  the  affairs  of 
dead  men,  or  receiver  in  the  muddled  business  of  the  living. 
That  accounts  for  such  men's  inflexibility  in  carrying  out 
the  provisions  of  unfeeling  testators  and  the  decrees  of  heart 
less  courts.  The  law  must  be  applied  to  the  letter,  the  wishes 
of  the  deceased  fulfilled  to  the  last  hateful  particular,  for 
the  longer  the  administrator  or  receiver  is  in  place,  the  longer 
flows  the  soothing  stream  of  fees. 

Ollie  had  passed  out  of  the  brief  tranquillity  which  had 
settled  on  her  after  the  inquest  and  funeral.  Worry  had 
overtaken  her  again,  and  a  longing  for  the  return  of  Morgan, 
which  seemed  destined  never  to  be  quieted. 

There  was  not  so  much  concern  for  her  in  the  ultimate 
disposal  of  Isom's  estate,  for  she  had  consoled  herself  all 


212  The  Romlboy 


along,  since  the  discovery  of  the  will,  that  she  would  soon 
be  above  the  need  of  his  miserly  scrapings  and  hoarded 
revenues  of  stint.  Morgan  would  come,  triumphant  in  his 
red-wheeled  buggy,  and  bear  her  awav  to  the  sweet  recom 
pense  of  love,  and  the  quick  noises  of  life  beyond  that  drowsy 
place.  For  Morgan,  and  love,  she  could  give  it  all  over 
without  one  regret,  or  a  glance  behind. 

Yet,  with  the  thought  of  what  she  already  had  given 
for  Morgan  and  love  a  quick  catching  of  pain,  a  troubled 
stirring  bordering  on  panic,  rose  in  her  breast.  Where  was 
Morgan,  why  did  he  remain  away  when  he  might  come  boldly 
now,  like  a  man,  and  claim  his  own?  What  if  Morgan  never 
should  come  back?  What  if  she  should  find  herself  a  double 
widow,  bereft  of  both  the  living  and  the  dead? 

During  her  days  she  watched  for  him,  straining  her  eyes  up 
and  down  the  dust-white  road.  At  night  her  cheek  burned 
upon  her  pillow,  and  her  tears  ran  down,  yearning  for  the 
man  who  had  her  heart's  love  in  his  keeping  and  seemed 
unworthy  of  the  trust. 

At  such  times  her  anger  would  flame  hot  against  Joe.  If 
lie  had  not  come  into  her  affairs  and  muddled  them,  like  a 
•calf  in  a  kitchen,  all  of  this  uncertainty  and  longing  would 
have  been  spared  her.  And  it  would  be  like  the  fool  now,  the 
miserable,  bleating  bull-calf,  to  turn  back  on  his  word  and 
betray  her.  In  that  case,  what  should  she  do?  Bow  her 
head,  meekly,  and  bear  him  out?  She  did  not  think  so. 
There  was  little  chance  that  anybody  would  credit  Joe  if 
he  should  turn  now  on  his  own  evidence,  less  if  she  should 
maintain  that  his  first  version  of  the  tragedy  was  true. 
For  what  he  had  done  by  his  impertinent  meddling  between 
her  and  Morgan  he  deserved  to  suffer.  lie  must  grin  and 
bear  it  now,  said  she. 

Besides  this  feeling  of  revenge  on  Joe's  luckless  head,  Ollie 
had  her  reasons  of  selfishess  and  security  for  desiring  him 


Until  the  Day  Break 213 

out  of  the  way.  With  him  in  prison  for  a  long  time  —  people 
said  it  would  be  for  life — the  secret  of  her  indiscretion  with 
Morgan  would  be  safe.  And  then,  if  Morgan  never  came 
back,  perhaps  another. 

But  she  recoiled  from  the  thought  that  they  might  hang 
Joe  for  the  murder  of  Isom.  She  did  not  want  him  hung, 
for  through  her  gathering  cloud  of  blame  for  his  too  faithful 
guardianship  of  his  master's  house,  she  had  gleams  of  tender 
ness  and  gratitude  for  him.  She  could  not  help  comparing 
him  with  Morgan  in  such  moments  of  softness.  Morgan  had 
let  that  boy  drive  him  away ;  he  seemed  to  have  gone  with 
such  a  terror  of  him  that  he  never  had  looked  back.  Joe, 
on  the  other  hand,  had  stood  by  her  through  the  storm. 
No,  she  did  not  want  them  to  hang  Joe,  but  it  would  be 
quite  easy  and  comfortable  with  him  out  of  the  way  for  a 
long,  long  time. 

Public  opinion  was  framing  toward  giving  her  the  relief 
that  she  desired.  If  anybody  suspected  that  Ollie  was  con 
cerned  in  her  husband's  death,  it  was  some  remote  person 
whose  opinion  did  not  affect  the  public  mind.  The  current 
belief  was  that  Joe  alone  was  to  blame. 

No  matter  how  severe  the  world  may  be  upon  a  woman 
after  she  is  down  in  the  mire,  there  is  no  denying  that  it  is 
reluctant  to  tumble  her  from  her  eminence  and  throw  her 
there.  A  woman  will  find  more  champions  than  detractors  in 
the  face  of  the  most  serious  charge ;  especially  a  young  and 
pretty  one,  or  one  whose  life  has  been  such  as  to  shape  sym 
pathy  for  her  in  itself. 

All  her  neighbors  knew  that  Isom's  wife  had  suffered.  That 
year  of  penance  in  her  life  brought  Ollie  before  them  in  a 
situation  which  was  an  argument  and  plea  for  their  sympathy 
and  support. 

In  spite,  then,  of  the  coroner's  attempt  at  the  inquest  to 
drag  Ollie  into  the  tragedy,  and  to  give  foundation  for  his 


214 The  Bondboy 

shrewd  suspicion  that  there  had  been  something  between 
Isoni's  wife  and  bondman  which  the  husband  was  unaware  of, 
no  sensation  nor  scandal  had  come  of  that.  The  case  was 
widely  talked  of,  and  it  was  the  hope  of  every  voter  in  the 
county  that  he  would  be  drawn  on  the  jury  to  try  the  boy 
accused  of  the  murder.  Even  the  busiest  farmers  began  to 
plan  their  affairs  so  they  would  have  at  least  one  day  to 
spare  to  attend  the  trial  at  its  most  interesting  point. 

The  date  set  for  the  trial  was  approaching,  and  so  was 
election  dav.  The  prosecuting  attorney,  being  up  for  re 
election,  hadn't  time,  at  that  busy  hour,  to  trv  a  homicide 
case.  lie  had  to  make  speeches,  and  bestir  himself  to  save  his 
valuable  services  to  the  state.  The  man  penned  in  jail, 
growing  thin  of  cheek  and  lank  of  limb,  could  wait.  There 
would  be  other  homicide  cases,  but  there  never  would  be 
another  prosecuting  attorney  so  valuable  as  that  one  offering 
himself,  and  his  young  ambitions,  on  the  altar  of  public 
service.  That  was  according  to  his  view.  So  lie  notified 
Hammer  that  the  state  would  not  be  ready  for  trial  on  the 
day  set. 

This  pleased  Hammer  well  enough,  for  the  greater  the 
delay  the  wider  the  notoriety  of  the  case  would  spread,  the 
larger  his  audience  would  be.  By  mutual  agreement,  tHe 
case  was  put  over  for  one  month. 

Joe  protested  against  this  delay  in  vain.  Hammer  said 
that  they  would  profit  by  it,  as  the  ferment  of  the  public 
mind  would  settle  meantime,  and  prejudice  would  not  be  so 
sharp.  He  talked  a  great  deal  about  "  character  witnesses," 
which  Joe  couldn't  see  the  need  of,  and  took  down  the  names 
of  all  the  people  whom  Joe  could  name  as  having  known  him 
all  his  life.  Then  Hammer  went  his  way,  to  make  speeches 
in  the  campaign  in  support  of  the  worthy  sheriff. 

So  Joe  found  himself  with  another  month  ahead  of  him 
before  he  could  even  hope  to  walk  out  into  the  sun  again. 


Until  the  Day  Break 215 

Jail  was  wearing  on  him.  The  disgrace  of  it  was  torture  to 
his  sensitive  mind,  without  the  physical  chafing  to  pull  him 
down  to  bones.  Those  two  weeks  had  taken  off  his  frame  a 
great  deal  of  the  flesh  that  he  had  gained  during  the  summer. 
His  gauntness  was  more  pronounced  than  it  ever  had  been 
before. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  walked  in  twice  a  week  to  see  him,  carrying 
with  her  a  basket  of  biscuits  and  other  homely  things  dear 
to  her  son's  palate.  All  of  which  the  sheriff  speared  with 
knitting-needles,  and  tried  on  various  domestic  animals,  to 
make  certain  that  the  Widow  Newbolt  did  not  cheat  the 
gallows  out  of  its  due  by  concealing  saws  in  pies,  or  intro 
ducing  poison  to  her  hopeless  offspring  in  boiled  eggs. 

But  all  of  her  tempting  relishes,  or  such  of  them,  at  least, 
as  reached  Joe,  were  powerless  to  fill  his  hollow  cheeks,  grow 
ing  thinner  and  paler  day  by  day.  He  could  not  eat  witK 
relish,  he  could  not  sleep  with  peace.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  the  new  light  that  Alice  Price  had  brought  into  his  life, 
he  must  have  burned  his  young  heart  to  ashes  in  his  restive- 
ness. 

Twice  again  the  colonel  and  Alice  had  visited  Joe,  once 
to  carry  to  him  the  books  for  which  he  had  expressed  a 
desire,  and  again  to  bring  the  Meditations  of  Marcus 
Aurelius,  which  Alice  herself  had  gone  after  to  Judge  Max 
well's  house.  Each  time  Joe  fancied  that  she  left  a  radiance 
behind  her  that  brightened  and  warmed  his  cell  for  days. 

Nobody  else  in  the  town  troubled  himself  about  the  pris 
oner's  welfare,  for  nobody  else  knew  him.  Two  of  the  min 
isters  had  called  at  the  jail  in  the  first  da}Ts  of  Joe's  incar 
ceration,  in  a  sort  of  urging-to-penitence  state  of  mind,  just 
as  if  they  were  assured  of  Joe's  guilt  by  reason  of  his  very 
obscurity.  Joe  had  told  them  that  he  had  a  religion  of  his 
own  which  seemed  to  fill  all  present  needs,  and  did  not  want 
to  make  any  change.  He  was  respectful,  but  lofty  in  his 


21 6  The  Eondhoy 


bearing.  So  they  put  him  down  as  a  stiff-necked  son  of 
Belial,  and  went  away,  leaving  him  to  save  himself  if  he 
thought  he  was  equal  to  the  task,  in  a  manner  of  challenge. 

In  the  face  of  this  clerical  abandonment,  people  wondered 
over  the  dee])  interest  that  Colonel  Price  and  his  daughter 
seemed  to  have  in  the  Widow  Ncwbolt's  son,  who  had  neither 
pride  of  family  nor  of  possessions  to  recommend  him. 

Joe  had  not  yet  brought  himself  to  the  belief  that  it  was 
necessary  to  take  his  lawyer  into  his  confidence,  although 
Hammer  had  made  it  unfeelingly  plain  to  him  that  the  with 
holding  of  any  vital  fact  would  be  fatal  to  his  cause.  Although 
Joe  was  beginning  to  experience  a  deep  and  disquieting  con 
cern  about  the  outcome  of  the  trial,  he  was  disposed  to  give 
Morgan  an  honest  man's  chance  to  come  forward  and  take 
his  share  of  it  upon  himself.  If  he  should  do  that,  then 
Joe  felt  that  he  would  be  morally  free  to  disclose  all  that 
took  place  in  the  kitchen  on  the  night  Isom  lost  his  life. 

In  case  that  Morgan  did  not  come,  or  that  he  had  gone 
bevond  the  reach  of  Hammer  or  anybody  else  to  fetch  him 
back,  then  there  would  not  be  one  word  of  evidence  to  uphold 
him,  or  justify  his  seemingly  ridiculous  stand  of  reticence. 
Yet,  perhaps  Morgan  was  waiting  until  the  trial  day;  per 
haps  he  knew  all  about  it,  and  would  appear  in  time.  So 
argued  Joe,  in  his  great  desire  to  be  just  to  everybody. 

He  reviewed  the  matter  in  this  wise  with  ceaseless  repe 
tition,  always  arriving  at  this  same  end,  from  which  he  drew 
the  comfort  of  hope.  Perhaps  Morgan  would  come  in  time. 
At  any  event,  he  would  wait  until  the  last  minute  of  the  last 
hour,  and  give  him  a  man's  chance  to  do  what  was  honorable 
and  fair. 

The  talkative  horse-thief  had  been  tried  and  condemned, 
and  had  gone  his  cheerful  way  to  the  penitentiary  to  serve 
three  years.  Before  leaving  he  had  taken  pains  to  sound 
again  his  forecast  of  what  was  waiting  Joe  "down  the  river," 


Until  the  Day  Break 217 

in  case  they  did  not  give  him  the  "  quick  and  painless."  He 
never  had  forgiven  Joe  his  unwillingness  to  gossip  with  him 
in  jail.  The  fellow's  vindictiveness  was  evident  in  the  sneering 
delight  that  he  took  on  his  last  night  in  jail  in  calling  Joe- 
out  of  his  sleep,  or  pretended  sleep,  to  hear  his  description 
of  the  terrors  waiting  a  man  condemned  to  prison  for  life. 

Now  that  he  was  gone,  Joe  felt  that  his  words  lived  after 
him,  like  mold  upon  the  walls,  or  a  chilling  damp  between 
the  stones.  The  recollection  of  them  could  not  be  denied 
his  abnormally  sharpened  senses,  nor  the  undoubted  truth 
of  their  terrifying  picture  shut  out  of  his  imagination  by 
any  door  of  reasoning  that  he  had  the  strength  to  close. 
Condemnation  to  prison  would  mean  the  suspension  of  all 
his  young  hopes  and  healthy  desires ;  it  would  bring  him  to 
the  end  of  his  activities  in  the  world  as  suddenly  as  death. 
Considering  ambition,  love,  happiness,  men  in  prison  were 
already  dead.  They  lived  only  in  their  faculty  for  suffering. 

Would  Morgan  come  to  save  him  from  that  fate?  That 
was  his  sole  speculation  upon  a  solution  of  his  pressing  trou 
ble.  Without  Morgan,  Joe  did  not  consider  any  other  way. 

Colonel  Price  had  received  lately  a  commission  for  a  corn 
picture  from  a  St.  Louis  hotel,  upon  which  he  was  working 
without  pause.  He  had  reached  that  state  of  exalted  cer 
tainty  in  relation  to  corn  that  he  never  was  obliged  to  put 
aside  his  colors  and  wait  the  charge  of  inspiration.  His 
inspirational  tide  always  was  setting  in  when  corn  was  the 
subject.  Work  with  the  colonel  in  such  case  was  a  matter 
of  daylight. 

On  account  of  the  order,  the  colonel  had  no  time  for  Joe, 
for  art  with  him,  especially  corn  art,  was  above  the  worries 
and  concerns  of  all  men.  He  did  not  forget  the  prisoner 
in  the  white  heat  of  his  commission.  For  several  days  he 
had  it  in  his  mind  to  ask  Alice  to  visit  him,  and  carry  to 
him  the  assurance  of  the  continuance  of  the  family  interest 


218  The  Bondboij 


and  regard.  But  it  was  an  unconventional  thing  to  request 
of  a  young  lady ;  a  week  slipped  past  before  the  colonel 
realized  it  while  he  temporized  in  his  mind. 

At  last  he  approached  it  circuitously  and  with  a  great 
deal  of  diplomatic  concealment  of  his  purpose,  leaving  ample 
room  for  retreat  without  unmasking  his  intention,  in  case 
he  should  discern  indications  of  unwillingness. 

By  that  time  the  election  was  over  and  the  country  regu 
larly  insured  against  anarch}',  devastation,  and  ruin  for  two 
years  longer.  The  prosecuting  attorney  and  the  sheriff  had 
been  reelectcd ;  the  machinery  of  the  law  was  ready  to  turn 
at  the  grist. 

The  colonel  was  pleased  to  see  that  Alice  seconded  him 
in  his  admission  that  they  had  been  treating  Joe  Newbolt 
shamefully.  Of  course  the  sheriff  was  parti v  to  blame  for 
that,  having  set  himself  up  with  metropolitan  importance, 
now  that  he  was  secure  in  office.  He  had  put  aside  Wednes 
day  as  the  one  day  of  the  week  on  which  visitors,  other  than 
relatives  or  counsel  of  prisoners,  would  be  permitted  to  enter 
the  jail. 

It  chanced  to  be  a  Wednesday  morning  when  the  colonel 
got  around  to  it  finally,  and  they  agreed  heartily  and  warmly 
that  somebody  ought  to  go  and  carry  a  little  gleam  of  cheer 
and  encouragement  to  Joe.  The  colonel  looked  at  his  un- 

O 

finished  picture,  then  at  the  mellow  light  of  the  autumn 
day,  so  much  like  the  soul  of  corn  itself,  and  then  at  Alice. 
He  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  waved  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
helplessness. 

''Never  mind,"  said  she;  "you  go  ahead  with  the  picture; 
I'll  go  alone." 

The  colonel  blessed  her,  and  turned  to  his  picture  with 
a  great  sigh  of  relief.  Alice  left  him  to  prepare  for  her 
visit,  a  Mutter  of  eagerness  in  her  heart,  a  feeling  of  timid 
nervousness  which  was  unaccountable  and  strange. 


Until  the  Bay  Break 219 

She  was  not  accustomed  to  trembling  at  the  thought  of 
meeting  young  men.  Usually  she  went  forward  to  the  ordeal 
with  a  smile,  which  the  victim  would  not  have  gathered  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  from,  in  most  cases,  if  he  had  been 
able  to  read,  for  he  would  have  seen  her  appraisement  of  him 
on  her  lips.  There  was  none  of  this  amusing  measurement 
of  Joe,  no  sounding  of  his  shallows  with  her  quick  perception 
like  a  sunbeam  finding  the  pebbles  in  the  bottom  of  a  brook. 
There  was  something  in  his  presence  which  seemed  like  a  cool 
wind  on  the  forehead,  palpable,  yet  profound  from  the  mys 
tery  of  its  source. 

She  had  been  surprised  by  the  depth  of  this  unpromising 
subject,  to  whom  she  had  turned  at  first  out  of  pity  for  his 
mother.  The  latent  beauties  of  his  rugged  mind,  full  of  the 
stately  poetry  of  the  old  Hebrew  chronicles,  had  begun  to 
unfold  to  her  sympathetic  perception  in  the  three  visits  she 
had  made  in  her  father's  company.  Each  visit  had  brought 
some  new  wonder  from  that  crude  storehouse  of  his  mind, 
where  Joe  had  been  hoarding  quaint  treasures  all  his  lonely, 
companionless  years. 

And  Joe,  even  in  his  confinement,  felt  that  he  was  free  in 
a  larger  sense  than  he  ever  had  been  before.  He  was  shaking 
out  his  wings  and  beginning  to  live  understandingly  and 
understood.  It  was  beyond  him  to  believe  it  sometimes ;  be 
yond  him  always  to  grasp  the  reality  of  Alice  Price,  and 
her  friendship  for  one  so  near  the  dust  as  he. 

What  was  there  about  the  poor  folks'  boy,  bound  out  but 
yesterday  to  Isom  Chase,  and  still  bound  to  his  estate  under 
the  terms  of  his  articles?  What  was  there  in  him  to  reach 
out  and  touch  the  sympathies  of  this  beautiful  young  woman, 
who  came  to  him  with  the  scent  of  violets  in  her  hair?  Others 
had  despised  him  for  his  poverty,  and  fastened  a  name  upon 
him  which  was  in  itself  a  reproach.  And  still  misunderstand 
ing,  they  had  carried  him  off  to  prison,  charged  with  a  dark 

15 


220  The  Bondboy 


and  hideous  crime.  Xow  this  light  had  come  to  him  in  his 
despair,  like  the  beam  of  that  white  star  above  the  Judean 
plains.  Like  that  star,  she  would  stand  far  off  to  guide 
him,  and  exalt  his  soul  by  its  strivings  to  attain  her  level. 
There  their  relations  must  cease.  lie  might  yearn  his  heart 
away  in  the  gulf  that  lay  between  them,  and  stretch  out  his 
empty  hands  for  evermore,  never  to  feel  its  nearer  warmth 
upon  his  breast.  lie  was  the  poor  folks'  bov. 

There  was  a  wan  sun  on  the  day  she  came  alone  to  the 
jail,  a  day  so  long  remembered  by  Joe  and  held  bv  him  so 
dear.  A  solemn  wind  was  roaming  the  tree-tops  outside 
his  cell  window;  the  branches  stood  bleak  and  bare  against 
the  mottled  sky. 

Alice  wore  a  dress  of  some  soft  gray  material,  which 
seemed  to  embrace  her  in  warm  comfort,  and  reveal  her  in  a 
new  and  sprightly  loveliness.  Her  rippled  hair  was  free  upon 
her  temples,  her  ear  peeped  out  from  beneath  it  with  a 
roguish  tint  upon  it,  as  if  it  waited  to  be  kissed,  and  blushed 
for  its  own  temerity.  A  gay  little  highland  bonnet  rode 
the  brown  billows  of  her  abundant  hair,  saucy  and  bold  as 
a  corsair,  with  one  bright  little  feather  at  its  prow.  Perhaps 
it  was  no  more  than  a  goose  quill,  or  a  cock's  plume  dipped 
in  dye,  but  to  Joe  it  seemed  as  glorious  as  if  it  had  been 
plucked  from  the  fairest  wing  in  the  gardens  of  paradise. 

The  marvel  of  it  came  over  Joe  again  as  he  stood  close 
against  the  bars  to  greet  her.  She,  so  rare  and  fine,  so 
genteel  and  fair,  caring  enough  for  him  and  his  unpromising 
fate  to  put  aside  the  joyous  business  of  her  unhampered  lift' 
and  seek  him  in  that  melancholy  place.  It  seemed  a  dream, 
yet  she  was  there,  her  delicate  dark  brows  lifted  questioningly, 
as  if  uncertain  that  he  would  approve  her  unconventional 
adventure,  a  smile  in  the  depths  of  her  serene,  frank  eyes. 
Her  cheeks  were  glowing  from  the  sparks  of  morning,  and 
her  ungloved  hand  was  reaching  out  to  meet  him. 


Until  the  Day  Break 221 

He  clasped  it,  and  welcomed  her  with  joy  that  he  could 
not  have  simulated  any  more  than  he  could  have  hidden. 
There  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice ;  a  hot  sweep  of  blood  flamed 
in  his  face  like  a  confession  of  his  secret  soul. 

"  I  never  saw  you  look  so  tall,"  said  he  slowly,  measuring 
her  with  adoring  eyes. 

"  Maybe  it's  the  dress,"  said  she,  looking  herself  over  with 
a  little  expressive  sweep  of  the  hands,  as  if  to  put  all  the 
blame  on  that  innocent  nun-gray  gown,  if  there  was  blame 
to  be  borne. 

She  wore  a  little  bunch  of  mignonette  upon  her  breast, 
just  at  the  point  where  the  slashing  of  her  bodice  ended, 
and  the  gray  gave  way  to  a  wedge  of  virginal  white,  as  if 
her  sempstress  had  started  to  lay  bare  her  heart.  The 
flowers  quivered  as  from  some  internal  agitation,  nestling  their 
pale  gold  spikes  against  their  lovely  bed. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it's  the  dress,"  said  he,  "  but  you  do 
look  taller  than  usual,  it  seems  to  me." 

She  laughed,  as  if  she  found  humor  in  his  solemn  repetition 
of  such  a  trivial  discovery. 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  being  tall,"  she  said.  "  How  tall  would 
you  have  a  lady  grow?  How  tall  do  you  think  one  ought 
to  be?" 

"  'As  high  as  my  heart,' "  said  Joe,  remembering  Orlando's 
words. 

The  color  deepened  in  her  cheeks ;  she  caught  her  breath 
with  a  little  "Oh!" 

She  wondered  what  sprout  of  blue-blooded  and  true-blooded 
nobility  in  Shelbyville  there  was  capable  of  turning  a  reply 
like  that  without  straining  for  it  more  than  that  pale  cavalier 
with  his  worn  clothing  hanging  loose  upon  his  bony  frame. 
When  she  ventured  to  lift  her  eyes  to  his  face,  she  found  him 
grasping  a  bar  of  the  cell  door  with  one  hand,  as  if  he  would 
tear  it  from  its  frame.  His  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  high 


222  The  Bondboy 


window,  he  did  not  turn.  She  felt  that  he  was  struggling 
with  himself  that  moment,  but  whether  to  drive  to  speech  or 
to  withhold  it,  she  could  not  tell. 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  out  there  and  run  about  five  miles  this 
morning."  he  sighed. 

She  gave  him  sigh  for  sigh,  feeling  that  something  was 
lost.  He  had  not  striven  with  himself  merely  to  say  that. 
But  from  there  they  went  on  to  talk  of  his  coming  trial, 
and  to  expose  the  mutual  hope  that  no  further  excuse  would 
be  advanced  for  its  continuance.  He  seemed  to  be  certain 
that  the  trial  would  see  an  end  of  his  difficulty,  and  she 
trembled  to  contemplate  any  other  outcome. 

So  they  stood  and  talked,  and  her  face  was  glowing  and 
her  eyes  were  bright. 

"Your  cheeks  are  as  red  as  bitter-sweet,"  said  he. 

"There  was  frost  last  night,"  she  laughed,  "and  the 
cool  wind  makes  my  face  burn/' 

"I  know  just  how  it  feels,"  said  he,  looking  again  toward 
the  window  with  pathetic  wistfulness,  the  hunger  of  old  long 
ings  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  will  not  be  long  now  until  you  are  free,"  she  said  in  low 
voice  of  sympathy. 

He  was  still  looking  at  the  brown  branches  of  the  bare 
elm,  now  palely  touched  with  the  cloud-filtered  autumn  sun. 

"  I  know  where  there's  lots  of  it,"  said  he,  as  if  to  himself, 
"out  in  the  hills.  It  loves  to  ramble  over  scrub-oak  in  the 
open  phices  where  there's  plenty  of  sun.  I  used  to  pick  arm 
loads  of  it  the  last  year  I  went  to  school  and  carry  it  to  the 
teacher.  She  liked  to  decorate  the  room  with  it." 

lie  turned  to  her  with  apologetic  appeal,  as  if  to  excuse 
himself  for  having  wandered  away  from  her  in  his  thoughts. 

"  I  put  it  over  the  mantel,"  she  nodded  ;  "  it  lasts  all  winter." 

"  The  wahoo's  red  now,  too,"  said  he.  "  Do  you  care 
for  it?" 


Until  the  Day  Break 223 

"  It  doesn't  last  as  long  as  bitter-sweet,"  said  she. 

"  Bitter-sweet,"  said  he  reflectively,  looking  down  into  the 
shadows  which  hung  to  the  flagstones  of  the  floor.  Then  he 
raised  his  eyes  to  hers  and  surprised  them  brimming  with 
tears,  for  her  heart  was  aching  for  him  in  a  reflection  of  his 
own  lonely  pain. 

"  It  is  emblematic  of  life,"  said  he,  reaching  his  hand  out 
through  the  bars  to  her,  as  if  to  beg  her  not  to  grieve  over 
the  clouds  of  a  day ;  "  you  know  there  are  lots  of  comparisons 
and  verses  and  sayings  about  it  in  that  relation.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I've  always  had  more  of  the  bitter  than  the  sweet 
—  but  it  will  all  come  out  right  in  time." 

She  touched  his  hand. 

"Do  you  like  mignonette?"  she  asked.  "I've  brought 
you  some." 

"  I  love  it ! "  said  he  with  boyish  impetuosity.  "  I  had  a 
bed  of  it  last  —  no,  I  mean  the  summer  before  last  —  before 
I  was  —  before  I  went  to  work  for  Isom." 

She  took  the  flowers  from  her  bosom  and  placed  them 
in  his  hand.  The  scent  of  them  was  in  his  nostrils,  stirring 
memories  of  his  old  days  of  simple  poverty,  of  days  in  the 
free  fields.  Again  he  turned  his  face  toward  the  window,  the 
little  flowers  clutched  in  his  hand.  His  breast  heaved  as  if 
he  fought  in  the  deep  waters  of  his  soul  against  some  ignoble 
weakness. 

She  moved  a  little  nearer,  and  reached  timidly  through 
the  bars  with  the  breathless  quiet  of  one  who  offers  a  caress 
to  a  sleeper.  Her  finger-tips  touched  his  arm. 

"  Joe,"  said  she,  as  if  appealing  in  pity  to  him  for  permis 
sion  to  share  his  agony. 

He  lifted  the  flowers  to  his  lips  and  kissed  the  stems  where 
her  hand  had  clasped  them ;  then  bowed  his  head,  his  strong 
shoulders  against  the  bars. 

"  Joe ! "     Her  voice  was  a  whisper  in  his  ear,  more  than 


224  The  llondboy 


pity   in   it,    so   it    seemed   to   him   in   the   revelation    of   that 
moment ;  more  than  entreaty,  more  than  consolation. 

Her  hand  was  on  his  arm;  he  turned  to  her,  shaking  the 
fallen  locks  of  his  wild  hair  hack  from  his  brow.  Then  her 
hand  was  in  his,  and  there  was  a  warm  mist,  as  of  summer 
clouds,  before  his  eyes.  Her  face  was  before  him,  and  near  — 
so  near.  Not  red  like  the  bitter-sweet,  but  pale  as  the  win 
ter  dawn.  Her  eyes  were  wide,  her  chin  was  lifted,  and  he- 
was  straining  her  to  him  with  the  jail  door  bars  against  his 
breast. 

Love  comes  that  way,  and  death ;  and  the  blow  of  sorrow, 
and  the  wrench  of  life's  last  bitter  pang.  Only  life  is  slow; 
tedious  and  laggard  with  its  burdens  and  its  gleams. 

lie  remembered  in  a  moment;  the  pressure  of  the  bars 
against  his  breast  recalled  him  to  his  sad  estate.  He  released 
her  hand  and  fell  back  a  step  from  her,  a  sharp  cry  on  his  lips 
as  if  he  had  seen  her  crushed  and  mangled  just  beyond  his 
reach. 

''I  didn't  mean  to  do  that,  Alice;  I  didn't  mean  to  do 
that!"  said  he,  dropping  to  his  knees  before  her  as  if  struck 
down  by  a  stunning  blow.  He  bowed  his  head  in  contrite 
humiliation. 

"  I  forgot  where  I  was,  Alice  ;  I  forgot !  " 

There  was  no  displeasure  in  her  face  as  she  stood  panting 
before  the  barred  door,  her  hands  to  her  heaving  breast, 
her  head  thrown  back.  Her  lips  were  parted;  there  was  a 
light  of  exaltation  in  her  eyes,  as  of  one  who  has  felt  tlu 
benediction  of  a  great  and  lasting  joy.  She  put  her  hand 
through  I  lie  liars  again,  and  touched  his  bowed  head. 

"Don't  do  that,  Joe,"  said  she. 

The  sheriff's  key  sounded  in  the  lock  of  the  corridor  gate. 

"Time's  up,"  he  called. 

"All  right ;  I'm  coming,"  Alice  returned. 

Joe  stood,  weak  and  trembling.     lie  felt  as  if  he  had,  in 


Until  the  Day  Break 225 

the  heat  of  some  great  passion,  rashly  risked  life,  and  more 
than  life;  that  he  had  only  now  dragged  his  battered  body 
back  to  the  narrow,  precarious  ledge  from  which  he  had 
leaped,  and  that  safety  was  not  his. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  she,  soft  and  low  and  in  steady 
voice.  "  Good-bye." 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  he  clung  to  it  like  a  nestling 
fastening  upon  the  last  branch  interposing  between  it  and 
destruction. 

"  I  forgot  where  I  was,"  said  he  weakly,  his  shaken  mind 
incapable  of  comprehending  things  as  they  were,  his  abase 
ment  over  the  breach  that  he  had  committed  being  so  pro 
found.  She  withdrew  her  hand.  When  it  was  gone  out  of 
his,  he  remembered  how  warm  it  was  with  the  tide  of  her 
3roung  body,  and  how  soft  for  his  own  work-roughened  fingers 
to  meet  and  enfold. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  she  again.  Her  feet  sounded  ID 
the  corridor  as  she  ran  away.  A  little  way  along  she 
stopped.  She  was  beyond  his  sight,  but  her  voice  sounded 
near  him  when  she  called  back  "  Good-bye ! " 

She  had  not  gone  in  anger  nor  displeasure,  thought  he, 
getting  hand  of  his  confused  senses  after  a  while,  standing 
as  she  had  left  him,  the  flowers  in  his  hand.  Strangely  exulting, 
strangely  thrilling,  mounting  a  moment  like  an  eagle,  plunging 
down  now  like  a  stone,  Joe  walked  his  cell. 

What  had  he  done,  drawn  on  by  that  which  he  had  read 
in  her  eyes  in  that  poignant  moment!  In  jail,  locked  behind 
a  grated  door  of  steel,  he  had  taken  her  hand  and  drawn 
her  to  him  until  the  shock  of  the  bars  had  called  back  his 
manhood.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  her  friendship  and 
sympathy. 

Prison  was  no  place  for  love;  a  man  locked  in  jail  charged 
with  a  crime  had  no  right  to  think  of  it.  It  was  base  of  him, 
and  unworthy.  Still  —  mounting  again  in  a  swift,  delicious 


226  The  Bondboy 


flight  —  it  was  sweet  to  know  what  her  eyes  had  told  him, 
sweeter  to  rest  assured  that  she  had  not  left  him  in  scorn. 
Down  again,  a  falling  clod.  Unless  he  had  misinterpreted 
them  in  the  ignorance  of  his  untutored  heart.  Yet,  that  is 
a  language  that  needs  no  lexicon,  he  knew. 

Who  is  so  simple,  indeed,  as  to  be  unaware  of  that?  How 
different  this  passion  from  that  which  Ollie's  uncovered 
bosom  had  stirred;  how  he  burned  with  shame  at  the  memory 
of  that  day ! 

Up  and  down  he  strode  the  morning  through,  his  long, 
thin  legs  now  spare  in  his  boot-tops,  his  wide,  bony  shoulders 
sharp  through  his  coat.  The  strong  light  fell  on  his  gaunt 
face  as  he  turned  toward  the  window  ;  shadows  magnified  its 
hollows  when  he  turned  toward  the  door.  Now  that  the1 
panic  of  it  had  left  him,  the  sweetness  of  it  remained. 

How  soft  her  hand  was,  how  her  yielding  body  swayed 
in  his  arm!  How  delicious  her  breath  was  on  his  face;  how 
near  her  eyes,  speaking  to  him,  and  her  lips ;  how  near  her 
parted,  warm,  red  lips ! 

He  took  up  the  Book,  and  turned  with  trembling  hands  to 
a  place  that  he  remembered  well.  There  was  something  that 
he  had  read,  not  feeling,  not  understanding,  words  of  which 
came  back  to  him  now.  The  Songs  of  Songs,  Which  is 
Solomon's. 

Ah,  the  Song  of  Songs !  The  music  of  it  now  was  written  in 
his  heart.  It  was  not  the  song  in  glorification  and  exaltation 
of  the  church  that  the  translators  had  captioncd  it ;  not  a 
song  full  of  earthly  symbols  meant  to  represent  spiritual 
passions.  Joe  had  read  it,  time  and  again,  in  that  appli 
cation,  and  it  had  fallen  flavorless  upon  his  understanding. 
No ;  it  was  the  song  of  a  strong  man  to  the  woman  whom  he 
loved. 

And  the  music  of  it,  old  but  ever  new  in  its  human  appeal, 
now  was  written  in  his  heart. 


Until  the  Day  Break 227 

Thy  lips  are  like  a  thread  of  scarlet,  and  thy  speech  is  comely.  Thou 
art  all  fair,  my  love;  there  is  no  spot  in.  thee.  .  .  .  Until  the  day 
break,  and  the  shadows  flee  away,  turn,  my  beloved  .... 

Ah,  until  the  day  break ! 

In  his  rapt  exaltation  the  boy's  face  beamed  as  he  strode 
swiftly  the  length  of  his  cell.  It  would  not  be  long  until  day 
break  now.  The  judge  would  understand  him,  and  would 
not  press  a  man  to  tell  what  he  had  delicate  reasons  for  con 
cealing,  Avhen  the  concealment  could  bring  harm  to  nobody, 
but  boundless  good  to  one  weak  creature  who  must  wither 
otherwise  in  the  blaze  of  shame. 

He  remembered  the  strong  face  and  the  long  iron-gray 
hair  of  Judge  Maxwell ;  only  a  little  while  ago  Joe  had  given 
him  some  apples  which  he  had  stopped  to  admire  as  he  drove 
past  Isom's  orchard  in  his  sagging,  mud-splashed,  old  buggy. 
He  wras  a  good  man ;  the  uprightness  of  his  life  spoke  from  his 
face.  Judge  Maxwell  was  a  man  to  understand. 

Poor  Ollie ;  poor  weak,  shrinking  Ollie !  Her  frightened 
eyes  glowed  hot  in  his  memory  of  the  day  of  the  inquest, 
carrying  to  him  their  appeal.  Poor,  mistaken,  unguided 
Ollie !  He  would  protect  her  to  the  last,  as  he  had  done  at 
the  beginning,  and  trust  and  hope  that  the  judge,  and  Alice, 
and  the  colonel,  and  the  whole  world,  would  understand  in 
due  and  proper  time. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DESERTED 

JOHN  OWEXS,  the  surviving  witness  to  Isom  Chase's  will, 
spent  his  dreary  days  at  the  poorhouse  whittling  long 
chains  of  interlocking  rings,  and  fantastic  creatures  such  as 
the  human  eye  never  beheld  in  nature,  out  of  soft  pine-wood. 
He  had  taken  up  that  diversion  shortly  after  the  last  of  his 
afflictions,  blindness,  fell  upon  him  and,  as  white  pine  was 
cheap,  the  superintendent  of  the  institution  indulged  him 
without  stint. 

Uncle  John,  as  he  was  called  long  years  before  the  hard- 
riding  world  threw  him,  was  a  preacher  back  in  the  days  of 
his  youth,  middling  manhood  and  prosperity.  lie  had  ridden 
the  country  in  the  Campbellite  faith,  bringing  hundreds  into 
the  fold,  with  a  voice  as  big  as  a  bull's,  and  a  long  beard, 
which  he  wore  buttoned  under  his  vest  in  winter.  And  now 
in  his  spccchlcssncss,  darkness,  and  silence,  he  still  preached 
in  his  wav,  carving  out  the  beast  with  seven  heads  and  ten 
horns,  and  female  figures  of  hideous  mien,  the  signification  of 
which  nobodv  rightly  knew. 

Uncle  John  had  a  little  slate  upon  which  he  wrote  his 
wants,  but  nobody  had  discovered  any  way  of  communicating 
with  him  save  by  taking  his  hand  and  guiding  it  to  the  object 
for  which  he  had  asked.  For  a  long  time  he  had  written  the 
one  word  "Paint"  on  his  slate.  That  was  the  beginning  of 
his  use  of  it,  when  one  word  was  all  that  he  could  get  on  a 
side  of  it  at  a  time.  After  his  fingers  had  become  sensitive 
through  his  new  art  of  whittling  and  feeling,  he  improved 
his  writing,  until  he  made  it  plain  that  he  wanted  paint  to 
adorn  his  carved  figures,  so  they  could  be  sold. 

228 


Deserted 229 

It  was  the  hope  of  the  poor  old  soul  that  he  could  whittle 
himself  out  of  the  poorhousc,  and  live  free  and  independent 
upon  the  grotesque  productions  of  his  knife,  if  they  would 
give  him  paint  to  make  them  attractive,  and  thus  get  a  start. 
He  did  not  know  how  fantastic  and  ridiculous  they  were, 
having  only  his  own  touch  to  guide  him  to  judgment  of  their 
merits. 

Perhaps  he  was  no  less  reasonable  in  this  belief  than  certain 
painters,  musicians,  and  writers,  who  place  their  own  blind 
value  upon  the  craft  of  their  hands  and  brains,  and  will  not 
set  them  aside  for  any  jury  that  the  world  can  impanel. 

Uncle  John  never  came  to  realize  his  hopes  of  freedom,  any 
more  than  he  ever  came  to  realize  the  usclessness  of  paint  for 
his  angels  when  he  had  no  eyes  for  applying  it.  He  whittled 
on,  in  melancholy  dejection,  ring  upon  ring  in  his  endless 
chains  of  rings,  forging  in  bitter  irony  the  emblems  of  bond 
age,  when  his  old  heart  so  longed  to  be  free. 

It  was  a  bright  day  in  the  life  of  Uncle  John  Owens,  then, 
when  Ollie's  lawyer  called  at  the  poorhouse  and  placed  under 
his  hands  some  slender  slips  of  cardboard  bearing  raised 
letters,  the  A  B  C  of  his  age. 

His  bearded  old  face  shone  like  a  window  in  which  a  light 
has  been  struck  as  his  fluttering  fingers  ran  over  the  letters. 
He  fumbled  excitedly  for  his  slate  which  hung  about  his  neck, 
and  his  hand  trembled  as  he  wrote  : 

"  More  —  book  —  more." 

It  had  been  an  experiment,  the  lawyer  having  doubted 
whether  Uncle  John's  untrained  fingers,  dulled  by  age,  could 
pick  out  the  letters,  large  as  they  were.  He  had  nothing 
more  to  offer,  therefore,  and  no  way  of  answering  the  appeal. 
But  that  night  an  order  for  the  New  Testament  in  raised 
characters  for  the  blind  went  out  from  Shelbyville. 

Judge  Little  was  making  no  progress  in  establishing  the 
will.  Nobody  had  come  forward  in  answer  to  his  advertise- 


230  The  Bondboy 


mcnts  in  the  citv  papers,  claiming  for  himself  the  distinction 
of  being  Isoin  Chase's  son.  But  the  judge  gave  Ollie  to 
understand,  in  spite  of  his  quiescence  while  he  searched  for 
the  heir,  that  the  courts  must  settle  the  question.  If  there 
were  fees  to  be  had  out  of  that  estate,  Judge  Little  was  the 
man  to  get  them. 

Meantime,  in  his  cell  in  the  county  jail,  Joe  Newbolt  was 
bearing  the  heaviest  penance  of  his  life.  Alice  had  not  come 
again.  Two  visiting  days  had  passed,  and  there  would  be 
no  more  before  the  date  of  the  trial,  which  was  set  for  the 
following  Monday.  But  since  that  dun  morning  when  she 
had  given  him  the  mignonette,  and  he  had  drawn  her  unre 
sisting  body  to  the  barrier  of  his  prison  door,  she  had  visited 
him  no  more. 

Joe  reproached  himself  for  it.  He  accused  himself  of  hav 
ing  offended  beyond  forgiveness.  In  the  humiliation  which 
settled  upon  him,  he  wasted  like  water  in  the  sun.  The 
mignonette  which  she  had  given  him  withered,  dried;  its  per 
fume  vanished,  its  blossoms  turned  gray.  She  came  no  more. 
What  did  it  matter  if  they  convicted  him  before  the  judge, 
said  he,  now  that  Alice  had  condemned  him  in  her  heart. 
He  lamented  that  he  had  blundered  into  such  deep  offend 
ing.  His  untutored  heart  had  seen  only  the  reflection  of  his 
own  desire  in  her  eyes  that  day.  She  did  not  care  for  him. 
It  was  only  pity  that  he  had  distorted  into  love. 

He  had  inquired  about  her,  timidly,  of  the  sheriff,  who  had 
looked  at  him  with  a  slow  wink,  then  formed  his  mouth  into 
an  egg-shaped  aperture  and  held  it  so  an  exasperating  while, 
as  if  he  meant  to  whistle.  The  sheriff's  clownish  behavior 
nettled  Joe,  for  he  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  he  meant. 

"  I  thought  maybe  she'd  sent  over  some  books,"  said  Joe, 
blushing  like  a  hollyhock. 

"Books!"  said  the  sheriff,  with  a  grunt. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Joe  answered,  respectfully. 


Deserted 231 

"Huh,  she  never  sent  no  books,"  said  the  sheriff,  turning 
away. 

After  a  little  he  came  back  and  stood  before  Joe's  door, 
with  his  long  legs  far  apart,  studying  the  prisoner  calcula- 
tively,  as  a  farmer  stands  when  he  estimates  the  weight  of  a 
hog. 

"  Cree-mo-nee !  "  said  he. 

He  laughed  then,  much  to  Joe's  confusion,  and  totally 
beyond  his  comprehension.  The  sheriff  left  him  with  that. 
From  the  passage  his  laugh  came  back. 

The  day  was  Friday ;  Joe  plucked  up  a  little  hope  when  he 
heard  the  sheriff  conducting  somebody  to  the  corridor  gate. 
It  was  Colonel  Price,  who  had  exercised  his  political  influence 
over  the  sheriff  and  induced  him  to  set  aside  his  new  regula 
tions  for  the  day.  The  colonel  made  apologies  to  Joe  for 
what  might  seem  his  lack  of  interest  in  his  welfare. 

Joe  inquired  of  him  concerning  Alice,  with  respectful 
dignity.  She  was  well,  said  the  colonel,  and  asked  to  be 
remembered.  What  else  the  colonel  said  on  that  occasion 
Joe  did  not  recall.  All  that  he  could  think  of  was  that  Alice 
had  desired  to  be  remembered. 

What  an  ironical  message  to  send  him,  thought  Joe.  If 
she  only  had  come  herself,  and  given  him  the  assurance  with 
her  eyes  that  there  was  no  stored  censure,  no  burning 
reproach;  if  she  had  come,  and  quieted  the  doubt,  the 
uncertainty,  of  his  self-tortured  soul.  His  case  had  become 
secondary  beside  Alice.  The  colonel  talked  of  it,  but  Joe 
wondered  if  the  mignonette  in  her  garden  was  dead.  The 
colonel  shook  his  head  gravely  when  he  went  away  from  the 
jail  that  day.  It  was  plain  that  the  boy  was  suffering  with 
that  load  on  his  mind  and  the  uncertainty  of  the  outcome 
pressing  upon  him.  He  mentioned  it  to  Alice. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  try  to  get  him  another  lawyer,"  said 
the  colonel.  "Hammer  never  will  be  equal  to  that  job.  It 


232  The  Bondboy 


will  be  more  the  size  of  Judge  Burns,  or  one  of  the  old  heads. 
That  boy's  in  a  pickle,  Alice,  and  a  mighty  tight  one,  at  that." 

"But  he's  innocent  —  you  don't  doubt  that?"  said  she. 

"  Not  for  a  minute,"  the  colonel  declared.  "  I  guess  I 
should  have  been  looking  after  him  closer,  but  that  picture 
intervened  between  us.  He's  wearing  away  to  a  shadow, 
chafing  and  pining  there  in  jail,  poor  chap." 

"Do  you  think  he'll  consent  to  your  employing  another 
lawyer  for  him?"  she  asked,  searching  his  face  wistfully. 

"I  don't  know;  he's  so  set  in  the  notion  of  loyalty  to 
Hammer  —  just  as  if  anybody  could  hurt  Hammer's  feelings! 
If  the  boy  will  consent  to  it,  I'll  hire  Judge  Burns  at  my 
own  expense." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  will,"  sighed  she. 

"No,  I  reckon  not,  his  notions  are  so  high-flown,"  the 
colonel  admitted,  with  evident  pride  in  the  lofty  bearing  of 
the  widow's  son. 

"  He's  longing  for  a  run  over  the  hills,"  said  she.  "  He 
told  me  he  was." 

"A  year  of  it  in  there  would  kill  him,"  the  colonel  said. 
"We  must  get  him  a  lawyer  who  can  disentangle  him.  I 
never  saw  anybody  go  down  like  that  boy  has  gone  down  in 
the  last  month.  It's  like  taking  a  wild  Indian  out  of  the 
woods  and  putting  him  in  a  cage." 

The  colonel  put  aside  the  corn  picture  for  the  day,  and 
went  out  to  confer  with  Judge  Burns,  a  local  lawyer  who  had 
gained  a  wide  reputation  in  the  defense  of  criminal  cases. 
He  was  a  doubly  troubled  man  when  he  returned  home  that 
evening,  for  Joe  had  been  firm  in  his  refusal  either  to  dismiss 
Hammer  or  admit  another  to  his  defense.  In  the  library  he 
had  found  Alice,  downcast  and  gloomy,  on  the  margin  of  tears. 

"  Why,  honey,  you  mustn't  mope  around  this  way,"  he 
remonstrated  gently.  "What  is  it  —  what's  gone  wrong  with 
mv  little  manager?" 


Deserted  233 


She  raised  up  from  huddling  her  head  against  her  arms  on 
the  table,  pushed  her  fallen  hair  back  from  her  eyes  and 
gave  him  a  wan  smile. 

"I  just  felt  so  lonely  and  depressed  somehow,"  said  she, 
placing  her  hand  on  his  where  it  lay  on  the  table.  "Never 
mind  me,  for  I'll  be  all  right.  What  did  he  say?  " 

"Judge  Burns?" 

"Joe." 

The  colonel  drew  a  chair  near  and  sat  down,  flinging  out 
his  hand  with  impatient  gesture. 

"  I  can't  do  anything  with  him,"  said  he.  "  He  says  one 
lawyer  will  do  as  well  as  another,  and  Hammer's  doing  all 
that  can  be  done.  '  They'll  believe  me  or  they'll  not  believe' 
me,  colonel,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it,'  says  he,  '  and  the 
best  lawyer  in  the  world  can't  change  that.'  And  I  don't 
know  but  he's  right,  too,"  the  colonel  sighed.  "  He's  got 
to  come  out  with  that  story,  every  word  of  it,  or  there'll 
never  be  a  jury  picked  in  the  whole  State  of  Missouri  that'll 
take  any  stock  in  his  testimony." 

"  It  will  be  a  terrible  thing  for  his  mother  if  they  don't 
believe  him,"  said  she. 

"  We'll  do  all  that  he'll  allow  us  to  do  for  him,  we  can't 
do  any  more.  It's  a  gloomy  outlook,  a  gloomy  case  all 
through.  It  was  a  bad  piece  of  business  when  that  moun 
tain  woman  bound  him  out  to  old  Isom  Chase,  to  take  his 
kicks  and  curses  and  live  on  starvation  rations.  He's  the 
last  boy  in  the  world  that  you'd  conceive  of  being  bound 
out;  he  don't  fit  the  case  at  all." 

"  No,  he  doesn't,"  said  she,  reflectively. 

"  But  don't  let  the  melancholy  thing  settle  on  you  and 
disturb  you,  child.  He'll  get  out  of  it  —  or  he'll  not  —  one 
way  or  the  other,  I  reckon.  It  isn't  a  thing  for  you  to 
take  to  heart  and  worry  over.  I  never  should  have  taken 
you  to  that  gloomy  old  jail  to  see  him,  at  all." 


234  The  Bondboij 


"I  can't  forget  him  there  —  I'll  always  see  him  there!'* 
she  shuddered.  "lie's  above  them  all  —  they'll  never  under 
stand  him,  never  in  this  world!" 

She  got  up,  her  hair  hanging  upon  her  shoulders,  and  left 
him  abrupt Iv,  as  if  she  had  discovered  something  that  lay  in 
her  heart.  Colonel  Price  sat  looking  after  her,  his  back  very 
straight,  his  hand  upon  his  knee. 

"Well!"  said  he.  Then,  after  a  long  ruminative  spell: 
"Well!" 

That  same  hour  Hammer  was  laboring  with  his  client  in 
the  jail,  as  he  had  labored  fruitlessly  before,  in  an  endeavor 
to  induce  him  to  impart  to  him  the  thing  that  he  had  con 
cealed  at  the  coroner's  inquest  into  Isom  Chase's  death. 
Hammer  assured  him  that  it  would  not  pass  beyond  him 
in  case  that  it  had  no  value  in  establishing  his  innocence. 

"Mr.  Hammer,  sir,"  said  Joe,  with  unbending  dignity  and 
firmness,  "  if  the  information  you  ask  of  me  was  mine  to  give, 
freely  and  honorably,  I'd  give  it.  You  can  see  that.  Maybe 
something  will  turn  up  between  now  and  Monday  that  will 
make  a  change,  but  if  not,  you'll  have  to  do  the  best  you 
can  for  me  the  way  it  stands.  Maybe  I  oughtn't  expect  you 
to  go  into  the  court  and  defend  me,  seeing  that  I  can't  help 
you  any  more  than  I'm  doing.  If  you  feel  that  you'd  better 
drop  out  of  the  case,  you're  free  to  do  it,  without  any  hard 
feelings  on  my  part,  sir." 

Hammer  had  no  intention  of  dropping  the  case,  hopeless  as 
he  felt  the  defense  to  be.  Even  defeat  would  be  glorious,  and 
loss  profitable,  for  his  connection  with  the  defense  would 
sound  his  name  from  one  end  of  the  state  to  the  other. 

"  I  wouldn't  desert  you  in  the  hour  of  your  need,  Joe,  for 
anything  they  could  name,"  said  Hammer,  with  significant 
suggestion. 

His  manner,  more  than  his  words,  carried  the  impression 
that  they  had  named  sums,  recognizing  in  him  an  insuperable 


Deserted 235 

barrier  to  the  state's  case,  but  that  he  had  put  his  tempters 
aside  with  high-born  scorn. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Joe. 

"  But  if  Missis  Chase  was  mixed  up  in  it  any  way,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me,  Joe,"  he  pressed. 

Joe  said  nothing.  He  looked  as  stiff  and  hard  as  one  of 
the  iron  hitching-posts  in  front  of  the  court-house,  thought 
Hammer,  the  side  of  his  face  turned  to  the  lawyer,  who 
measured  it  with  quick  eyes. 

"Was  she,  Joe?"  whispered  Hammer,  leaning  forward,  his 
face  close  to  the  bars. 

"  The  coroner  asked  me  that,"  replied  Joe,  harshly. 

This  unyielding  quality  of  his  client  was  baffling  to  Ham 
mer,  who  was  of  the  opinion  that  a  good  fatherly  kick  might 
break  the  crust  of  his  reserve.  Hammer  had  guessed  the 
answer  according  to  his  own  thick  reasoning,  and  not  very 
pellucid  morals. 

"  Well,  if  you  take  the  stand,  Joe,  they'll  make  you  tell  it 
then,"  Hammer  warned  him.  "  You'd  better  tell  me  in  ad 
vance,  so  I  can  advise  you  how  much  to  say." 

"  I'll  have  to  get  on  somehow  without  your  advice,  thank 
you  sir,  Mr.  Hammer,  when  it  comes  to  how  much  to  say," 
said  Joe. 

"  There's  not  many  laAvyers  —  and  I'll  tell  you  that  right 
now  in  a  perfectly  plain  and  friendly  way  —  that'd  go  ahead 
with  your  case  under  the  conditions,"  said  Hammer.  "But 
as  I  told  you,  I'll  stick  to  you  and  see  you  through.  I  wash 
my  hands  of  any  blame  for  the  case,  Joe,  if  it  don't  turn 
out  exactly  the  way  you  expect." 

Joe  saw  him  leave  without  regret,  for  Hammer's  insistence 
seemed  to  him  inexcusably  vulgar.  All  men  could  not  be 
like  him,  reflected  Joe,  his  hope  leaping  forward  to  Judge 
Maxwell,  whom  he  must  soon  confront. 

Joe  tossed  the  night  through  with  his  longing  for  Alice, 

16 


236  The  Bondboy 


which  gnawed  him  like  hunger  and  would  not  yield  to  sleep, 
for  in  Ins  dreams  his  heart  went  out  after  her;  he  heard 
her  voice  caressing  his  name.  He  woke  with  the  feeling  that 
he  must  put  the  thought  of  Alice  away  from  him,  and  frame 
in  his  mind  what  he  should  say  when  it  came  his  turn  to 
stand  before  Judge  Maxwell  and  tell  his  story.  If  by  some 
hinted  thing,  some  shade  of  speech,  some  qualification  which 
a  gentleman  would  grasp  and  understand,  lie  might  convey 
his  reason  to  the  judge,  he  felt  that  he  must  come  clear. 

He  pondered  it  a  long  time,  and  the  face  of  the  judge  rose 
before  him,  and  the  eyes  were  brown  and  the  hair  in  soft 
wavelets  above  a  white  forehead,  and  Alice  stood  in  judgment 
over  him.  So  it  always  ended;  it  was  before  Alice  that  he 
must  plead  and  justify  himself.  She  was  his  judge,  his  jury, 
and  his  world. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  when  Mrs.  Newbolt  arrived  for  her 
last  visit  before  the  trial.  She  came  down  to  his  door  in  her* 
somber  dress,  tall,  bony  and  severe,  thinner  of  face  herself 
than  she  had  been  before,  her  eyes  bright  with  the  affection 
for  her  boy  which  her  tongue  never  put  into  words.  Her 
shoes  were  muddy,  and  the  hem  of  her  skirt  draggled,  for, 
high  as  she  had  held  it  in  her  heavy  tramp,  it  had  become 
splashed  by  the  pools  in  the  soft  highway. 

"  Mother,  you  shouldn't  have  come  today  over  the  bad 
roads,"  said  Joe  with  affectionate  reproof. 

"Lands,  what's  a  little  mud!"  said  she,  putting  down  a 
small  bundle  which  she  bore.  "Well,  it'll  be  fro/e  up  by 
tomorrow,  I  reckon,  it's  turnin'  sharp  and  cold." 

She  looked  at  Joe  anxiously,  every  shadow  in  his  worn 
face  carving  its  counterpart  in  her  heart.  There  was  no 
smile  of  gladness  on  her  lips,  for  smiles  had  been  so  long 
apart  from  her  life  that  the  nerves  which  commanded  them 
had  grown  stiff  and  hard. 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  taking  up  her  last  words,  "winter  will 


Deserted 237 

be  here  in  a  little  while  now.  I'll  be  out  then,  Mother,  to 
lay  in  wood  for  you.  It  won't  be  long  now." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  son ! "  said  she,  the  words  catching  in  her 
throat,  tears  rising  to  her  eyes  and  standing  so  heavy  that 
she  must  wipe  them  away. 

"  It  will  all  be  settled  next  week,"  Joe  told  her  confidently. 

"  I  hope  they  won't  put  it  off  no  more,"  said  she  wearily. 

"  No ;  Hammer  says  they're  sure  to  go  ahead  this  time." 

"  Ollie  drove  over  yesterday  evening  and  brought  your 
things  from  Isom's,"  said  she,  lifting  the  bundle  from  the 
floor,  forcing  it  to  him  between  the  bars.  "  I  brought  you  a 
couple  of  clean  shirts,  for  I  knew  you'd  want  one  for 
tomorrow." 

"  Yes,  Mother,  I'm  glad  you  brought  them,"  said  Joe. 

"  Ollie,  she  said  she  never  would  make  you  put  in  the  rest 
of  your  time  there  if  she  had  anything  to  say  about  it.  But 
she  said  if  Judge  Little  got  them  letters  of  administration  he 
was  after  she  expected  he'd  try  to  hold  us  to  it,  from  what 
he  said." 

"  No  matter,  Mother." 

"And  Ollie  said  if  she  ever  did  come  into  Isom's  property 
she'd  make  us  a  deed  to  our  place." 

Mrs.  Newbolt's  face  bore  a  little  gleam  of  hope  when  she 
told  him  this.  Joe  looked  at  her  kindly. 

"  She  could  afford  to,  Mother,"  said  he,  "  it  was  paid  for 
in  interest  on  that  loan  to  Isom." 

"  But  Isom,  he  never  would  'a'  give  in  to  that,"  said  she. 
"  Your  pap  he  paid  twelve  per  cent  interest  on  that  loan  for 
sixteen  years." 

"  I  figured  it  all  up,  Mother,"  said  he. 

There  was  nothing  for  her  to  sit  on  in  the  corridor ;  she 
stood  holding  to  the  bars  to  take  some  of  the  weight  from  her 
tired  feet. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurry  you  off,  Mother,"  said  Joe,  "  but 


238  The  Bondboy 


I  hate  to  see  you  standing  there  all  tired  out.  If  the  sheriff 
was  a  gentleman  he'd  fetch  you  a  chair.  I  don't  suppose 
therc'd  he  any  use  in  asking  him." 

"  Never  mind,  Joe,  it  takes  more  than  a  little  walk  like 
that  to  play  me  out." 

'"You'd  better  stop  in  at  Colonel  Price's  and  rest  a  while 
before  you  start  back,"  he  suggested. 

"  Maybe  I  will,"  said  she. 

She  plunged  her  hand  into  the  black  draw-string  bag  which 
she  carried  on  her  arm,  rummaging  among  its  contents. 

"That  little  rambo  tree  you  planted  a  couple  of  years  ago 
had  two  apples  on  it,"  she  told  him,  "but  I  never  noticed 
'em  all  summer,  the  leaves  was  so  thick  and  it  was  such  a 
little  feller,  anyhow." 

"It  is  a  little  one  to  begin  bearing,"  said  Joe,  with  a 
boy's  interest  in  a  thing  that  he  has  done  with  his  own  hand 
turning  out  to  be  something. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  aimed  to  leave  them  on  the  tree  till  you  could 
see  them,  but  the  hard  wind  yesterday  shook  'em  off.  Here 
thev  are,  I've  fetched  'cm  to  you,  son." 

Joe  took  the  apples,  the  recollection  of  the  high  hopes 
which  he  had  centered  around  that  little  apple-tree  when  he 
planted  it  coming  back  to  him  like  a  scented  wind  at  dawn. 
He  had  planned  to  make  that  tree  the  nucleus  of  an  or 
chard,  which  was  to  grow  and  spread  until  it  covered  the  old 
home  place,  the  fields  adjoining,  and  lifted  the  curse  of 
poverty  from  the  Newbolt  name.  It  had  been  a  boyish  plan 
which  his  bondage  to  Isom  Chase  had  set  back. 

He  had  not  given  it  up  for  a  day  while  he  labored  in  Chase's 
fields.  When  he  became  his  own  man  he  always  intended  to 
take  it  up  and  put  it  through.  Now,  there  in  his  hand,  was 
the  first  fruit  of  his  big  intention,  and  in  that  moment  Joe 
reviewed  his  old  pleasant  dream. 

lie  saw  again  as  he  had  pictured  it  before,  to  the  relief  of 


Deserted 239 

many  a  long,  hot  day  in  Isom's  fields,  his  thousand  trees  upon 
the  hills,  the  laden  wagons  rolling  to  the  station  with  his 
barrels  of  fruit,  some  of  it  to  go  to  far  lands  across  the 
sea.  He  saw  again  the  stately  house  with  its  white  columns 
and  deep  porticoes,  in  the  halls  of  which  his  fancy  had 
reveled  many  a  happy  hour,  and  he  saw  —  the  bars  of  his 
stone  cell  and  his  mother's  work-hardened  hands  clasping 
them,  while  she  looked  at  him  with  the  pain  of  her  sad  heart 
speaking  from  her  eyes.  A  heavy  tear  rolled  down  his  hol 
low  cheek  and  fell  upon  the  apples  in  his  hand. 

For  the  pain  of  prison  he  had  not  wept,  nor  for  its  shame. 
The  vexing  circumstance  of  being  misunderstood,  the  dread 
threat  of  the  future  had  not  claimed  a  tear.  But  for  a 
dream  which  had  sprung  like  a  sweet  flower  in  his  young  heart 
and  had  passed  away  like  a  mist,  he  wept. 

His  mother  knew  nothing  about  that  blasted  dream ;  the 
gloom  of  his  cell  concealed  his  tears.  He  rubbed  the  fruit 
along  his  coat  sleeve,  as  if  to  make  it  shine,  as  a  fruiterer 
polishes  the  apples  in  his  stall. 

"  All  right,  Mother,  I'm  glad  you  brought  them,"  he  said, 
although  there  was  no  gladness  in  his  voice. 

"  I  planned  to  fetch  you  in  some  fried  chicken  today,  too," 
said  she,  "but  the  pesky  rooster  I  had  under  the  tub  got 
away  when  I  went  to  take  him  out.  If  you'd  like  some,  Joe, 
I'll  come  back  tomorrow." 

"  No,  no ;  don't  you  tramp  over  here  tomorrow,  Mother," 
he  admonished,  "  and  don't  bother  about  the  chicken.  I  don't 
seem  to  have  any  appetite  any  more.  But  you  wait  till  I'm 
out  of  here  a  day  or  two ;  then  you'll  see  me  eat." 

"  Well,  then  I  guess  I'll  be  goin'  on  back,  Joe ;  and  bright 
and  early  Monday  morning  I'll  be  on  hand  at  the  court. 
Maybe  we'll  be  able  to  go  home  together  that  evenin',  son." 

"  Hammer  says  it  will  take  two  or  three  days,"  Joe  told 
her,  "  but  I  don't  see  what  they  can  do  to  make  it  string  out 


240  The  Bondboy 


that  long.  I  could  tell  them  all  about  it  in  ten  minutes.  So 
we  mustn't  put  our  hopes  too  high  on  Monday,  Mother." 

"I'll  beseech  the  Lord  all  day  tomorrow,  son,  to  open  their 
ears  that  they  may  hear,"  said  she  solemnly.  "  And  when 
the  time  comes  to  speak  tell  it  all,  Joe,  tell  it  all ! " 

"  Yes,  Mother,  when  the  time  comes,"  said  he  gently. 

"  Tell  'em  all  Isom  said  to  }TOU,  son,"  she  charged. 

"  Don't  you  worry  over  that  now,  Mother." 

She  felt  that  her  son  drew  away  from  her,  in  his  haughty 
manner  of  self-sufficiency,  as  he  spoke.  She  sighed,  shaking 
her  head  sadly.  "  Well,  I'll  be  rackin'  off  home,"  she  said. 

"  If  you  stop  at  the  colonel's  to  rest  a  while,  Mother- — and 
I  wish  you  would,  for  you're  all  tired  out  —  you  might  hand 
this  book  back  to  Miss  Price.  She  loaned  it  to  me.  Tell 
her  I  read  it  long  ago,  and  I'd  have  sent  it  back  before  now, 
only  I  thought  she  might  come  after  it  herself  some  time." 

His  mother  turned  to  him,  a  curious  expression  in  her  face. 

''Don't  she  come  any  more,  Joe?" 

"  She's  been  busy  with  other  things,  I  guess,"  said  he. 

"  Maybe,"  she  allowed,  with  a  feeling  of  resentment  against 
the  book  on  account  of  its  cold,  unfriendly  owner. 

She  had  almost  reached  the  corridor  gate  when  Joe  called 
after  her. 

"No,  don't  tell  her  that,"  he  requested.  "Don't  tell  her 
anything.  Just  hand  it  back,  please,  Mother." 

"  Whatever  you  say,  Joe." 

Joe  heard  the  steel  gate  close  after  her  and  the  sheriff's 
voice  loud  above  his  mother's  as  they  went  toward  the  door. 

Loyal  as  he  was  to  his  mother,  the  thought  of  her  went 
out  with  her,  and  in  her  place  stood  the  slender  figure  of 
youth,  her  lips  "like  a  thread  of  scarlet."  One  day  more 
to  wait  for  the  event  of  his  justification  and  vindication,  or 
at  least  the  beginning  of  it,  thought  Joe. 

Ah,  if  Alice  onlv  would  come  to  lighten  the  interval! 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   STATE   VS.    XEWBOLT 

HE  court-house  at  Shelbyville  was  a  red  brick  structure 

JL  with  long  windows.  From  the  joints  of  its  walls  the 
mortar  was  falling.  It  lay  all  around  the  building  in  a  girdle 
of  gray,  like  an  encircling  ant-hill,  upon  the  green  lawn. 
Splendid  sugar-maples  grew  all  about  the  square,  in  the  center 
of  which  the  court-house  stood,  and  close  around  the  building. 

In  a  corner  of  the  plaza,  beneath  the  largest  and  oldest 
of  these  spreading  trees,  stood  a  rotting  block  of  wood,  a 
section  of  a  giant  tree-trunk,  around  which  centered  many 
of  the  traditions  of  the  place.  It  was  the  block  upon  which 
negro  slaves  had  been  auctioned  in  the  fine  old  days  before 
the  war. 

There  was  a  bench  beside  the  approach  to  the  main  door, 
made  from  one  of  the  logs  of  the  original  court-house,  built 
in  that  square  more  than  sixty  years  before  the  day  that  Joe 
Newbolt  stood  to  answer  for  the  murder  of  Isorn  Chase. 
The  old  men  of  the  place  sat  there  in  the  summer  days, 
whittling  and  chewing  tobncco  and  living  over  again  the 
stirring  incidents  of  their  picturesque  past.  Their  mighty 
initials  were  cut  in  the  tough  wood  of  the  bench,  to  endure 
long  after  them  and  recall  memories  of  the  hands  which 
carved  them  so  strong  and  deep. 

Within  the  court-house  itself  all  was  very  much  like  it  had 
had  been  at  the  beginning.  The  court-room  was  furnished 
with  benches,  the  judge  sat  behind  a  solemn  walnut  desk. 
The  woodwork  of  the  room  was  thick  with  many  layers  of 
paint,  the  last  one  of  them  grim  and  blistered  now,  scratched 
by  stout  finger-nails  and  prying  knife-blades.  The  stairway 

241 


242  The  Bomlboy 


leading  from  the  first  floor  ascended  in  a  broad  sweep,  with  a 
turn  half-way  to  the  top. 

The  wall  along  this  stairway  was  battered  and  broken, 
as  if  the  heels  of  reluctant  persons,  dragged  hither  for  justice 
to  be  pronounced  upon  them,  had  kicked  it  in  protest  as  they 
passed.  It  was  as  solemn  and  gloomy  a  stairway  as  ever 
was  seen  in  a  temple  of  the  law.  Many  had  gone  up  it  in  their 
generation  in  hope,  to  descend  it  in  despair.  Its  treads  were 
worn  to  splinters;  its  balustrade  was  hacked  by  the  knives 
of  generations  of  loiterers.  There  was  no  window  in  the  wall 
giving  upon  it ;  darkness  hung  over  its  first  landing  on  the 
brightest  day.  The  just  and  the  unjust  alike  were  shrouded 
in  its  gloomy  penumbra  as  they  passed.  It  was  the  solemn 
warder  at  the  gate,  which  seemed  to  cast  a  taint  over  all  who 
came,  and  fasten  a  cloud  upon  them  which  they  must  stand  in 
the  white  light  of  justice  to  purge  away. 

When  the  civil  war  began,  the  Hag  of  the  Union  was  taken 
down  from  the  cupola  of  the  court-house.  In  all  the  years 
that  had  passed  since  its  close,  the  flag  never  had  been  hoisted 
to  its  place  of  honor  again.  That  event  was  not  to  take 
place,  indeed,  until  twenty  years  or  more  after  the  death  of 
Isom  Chase,  when  the  third  court-house  was  built,  and  the 
old  generation  had  passed  awav  mainly,  and  those  who 
remained  of  it  had  forgotten.  But  that  incident  is  an 
incursion  into  matters  which  do  not  concern  this  tale. 

Monday  morning  came  on  dull  and  cloudy.  Shelby ville 
itself  was  scarcely  astir,  its  breakfast  fires  no  more  than 
kindled,  when  the  wagons  of  farmers  and  the  straggling 
troops  of  horsemen  from  far-lying  districts  began  to  come 
in  and  seek  hitching-room  around  the  court-house  square.  It 
looked  very  early  in  the  day  as  if  there  was  going  to  be  an 
unusual  crowd  for  the  unusual  event  of  a  trial  for  murder. 

Isom  Chase  had  been  widely  known.  His  unsavory  repu 
tation  had  spread  wider  than  the  sound  of  the  best  deeds  of 


The  State  vs.  Newbolt 243 

the  worthiest  man  in  the  county.  It  was  not  so  much  on 
account  of  the  notoriety  of  the  old  man,  which  had  not  died 
with  him,  as  the  mystery  in  the  manner  of  his  death,  that 
people  were  anxious  to  attend  the  trial. 

It  was  not  known  whether  Joe  Newbolt  was  to  take  the 
witness-stand  in  his  own  behalf.  It  rested  with  him  and  his 
lawyer  to  settle  that ;  under  the  law  he  could  not  be  forced 
to  testify.  The  transcript  of  his  testimony  at  the  inquest 
was  ready  at  the  prosecutor's  hand.  Joe  would  be  confronted 
with  that,  and,  if  there  was  a  spark  of  spunk  in  him,  people 
said,  he  would  rise  up  and  stand  by  it.  And  then,  once  Sam 
Lucas  got  him  in  the  witness-chair,  it  would  be  all  day  with 
his  evasions  and  concealments. 

Both  sides  had  made  elaborate  preparations  for  the  trial. 
The  state  had  summoned  forty  witnesses ;  Hammer's  list 
was  half  as  long.  It  was  a  question  in  the  public  speculation 
what  either  side  expected  to  prove  or  disprove  with  this  train 
of  people.  Certainly,  Hammer  expected  to  prove  very  little. 
His  chief  aim  was  to  consume  as  much  time  before  the  jury  as 
possible,  and  disport  himself  in  the  public  eye  as  long  as  he 
could  drag  out  an  excuse.  His  witnesses  were  all  from  among 
the  old  settlers  in  the  Xewbolt  neighborhood  over  in  Sni,  who 
had  the  family  record  from  the  date  of  the  Kentucky  hegira. 
They  were  summoned  for  the  purpose  of  sustaining  and 
adding  color  to  the  picture  which  Hammer  intended  to  draw 
of  his  client's  well-known  honesty  and  clean  past. 

Fully  an  hour  before  Judge  Maxwell  arrived  to  open  court, 
the  benches  down  toward  the  front  were  full.  This  vantage 
ground  had  been  preempted  mainly  by  the  old  men  whose 
hearing  was  growing  dim.  They  sat  there  with  their  old 
hands,  as  brown  as  blackberry  roots,  clasped  over  their 
sticks  and  umbrellas,  their  peaked  old  chins  up,  their  eyes 
alert.  Here  and  there  among  them  sat  an  ancient  dame, 
shawled  and  kerchiefed,  for  the  day  was  chill ;  and  from  them 


244  The  Bondboif 


all  there  rose  the  scent  of  dry  tobacco-leaves,  and  out  of  their 
midst  there  sounded  the  rustling  of  paper-bags  and  the 
cracking  of  peanut-shells. 

"Gosh  in'  granny!"  said  Captain  Bill  Taylor,  deputy 
sheriff,  as  he  stood  a  moment  after  placing  a  pitcher  of  water 
and  a  glass  on  the  bench,  ready  for  Judge  Maxwell's  hand. 
"They're  here  from  Necessity  to  Tribulation!" 

Of  course  the  captain  was  stretching  the  territory  rep 
resented  bv  that  gathering  somewhat,  for  those  two  historic 
post  ofliees  lay  farther  away  from  Shelbyville  than  the 
average  inhabitant  of  that  country  ever  journeyed  in  his 
life.  But  there  was  no  denying  that  they  had  come  from 
surprising  distances. 

There  was  I'ncle  Posen  Spratt,  from  Little  Sugar  Creek, 
with  his  steer's-horn  ear  trumpet ;  and  there  were  Nick  Proc 
tor  and  his  wife,  July,  from  the  hills  beyond  Destruction, 
seventeen  miles  over  a  road  that  pitched  from  end  to  end 
when  it  didn't  slant  from  side  to  side,  and  took  a  shag-barked, 
sharp-shinned,  cross-eyed  wind-splitter  to  travel.  There  sat 
old  Bev  Munday,  from  Blue  Cut,  who  hadn't  been  that  far 
awav  from  home  since  Jesse  James  got  after  him,  with  his 
old  brown  hat  on  his  head;  and  it  was  two  to  one  in  the 
opinion  of  everybody  that  he'd  keep  it  there  till  the  sheriff 
ordered  him  to  lift  it  oti'.  Hiram  Lee,  from  Sni-a-bar  Town 
ship  was  over  there  in  the  corner  where  he  could  slant  up  and 
spit  out  of  the  window,  and  there  was  California  Colboth,  as 
big  around  the  waist  as  a  cow.  right  behind  him.  She  had 
came  over  in  her  dish-wheeled  buggy  from  (ireen  Valley,  and 
she  was  staying  with  her  married  son,  who  worked  on  tin- 
railroad  and  lived  in  that  little  pink-and-bluc  house  behind 
the  water-tank. 

Oh,  you  could  stand  there  —  said  Captain  Taylor  —  and 
name  all  the  old  settlers  for  twenty-seven  mile  in  a  ring!  But 
the  captain  hadn't  the  time,  even  if  he  was  taken  with  the 


The  State  vs.  Newbolt 245 

inclination,  for  the  townspeople  began  to  come,  and  it  was 
his  duty  to  stand  at  the  door  and  shut  off  the  stream  when 
all  the  benches  were  full. 

That  was  Judge  Maxwell's  order  ;  nobody  was  to  be  allowed 
to  stand  around  the  walls  or  in  the  aisles  and  jig  and  shuffle 
and  kick  up  a  disturbance  just  when  the  lawyers  or  witnesses 
might  be  saying  something  that  the  captain  would  be  very 
anxious  to  hear.  The  captain  indorsed  the  judge's  mandate, 
and  sustained  his  judgment  with  internal  warmth. 

General  Bryant  and  Colonel  Moss  Punton  came  early,  and 
sat  opposite  each  other  in  the  middle  of  the  aisle,  each  on 
the  end  of  a  bench,  where  they  could  look  across  and  exchange 
opinions,  yet  escape  being  crowded  by  the  mongrel  stock 
which  was  sure  to  come  pouring  in  soon.  A  good  many 
unnoted  sons  of  distinguished  fathers  arrived  in  pairs  and 
troops,  with  perfumery  on  their  neckties  and  chewing-gum 
in  their  teeth ;  and  their  sisters,  for  the  greater  part  as 
lovely  as  they  were  knotty,  warty,  pimply,  and  weak- 
shanked,  came  after  them  in  churchlike  decorum  and  settled 
down  on  the  benches  like  so  many  light-winged  birds.  But 
not  without  a  great  many  questioning  glances  and  shy  explor 
ations  around  them,  not  certain  that  this  thing  was  proper 
and  admissible,  it  being  such  a  mixed  and  dry-tobacco 
atmosphere.  Seeing  mothers  here,  grandfathers  there,  uncles 
and  aunts,  cousins  and  neighbors  everywhere,  they  settled 
down,  assured,  to  enjoy  the  day. 

It  was  a  delightfully  horrid  thing  to  be  tried  for  murder, 
they  said,  even  though  one  was  obscure  and  nobody,  a  bound 
servant  in  the  fields  of  the  man  whom  he  had  slain.  Especially 
if  one  came  off  clear. 

Then  Hammer  arrived  with  three  law-books  under  his  arm. 
He  was  all  sleek  and  shining,  perfumed  to  the  last  possible 
drop.  His  alpaca  coat  had  been  replaced  by  a  longer  one 
of  broadcloth,  his  black  necktie  surely  was  as  dignified  and 


246  The  Bondboy 


somberly  learned  of  droop  as  Judge  Burns',  or  Judge  Little's, 
or  Attorney  Pickell's,  who  got  Perry  Xorris  off  for  stealing 
old  man  Purvis'  cow. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  was  there  already,  awaiting  him  at  the 
railing  which  divided  the  lawyers  from  the  lawed,  lawing, 
and,  in  some  cases,  outlawed.  She  was  so  unobtrusive  in  her 
rusty  black  dress,  which  looked  as  if  it  were  made  of  storm- 
streaked  umbrellas,  that  nobody  had  noticed  her. 

X'ow,  when  they  saw  her  stand  and  shake  hands  with 
Hammer,  and  saw  Hammer  obsequiously  but  conspicuously 
conduct  her  to  a  chair  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  the  bar, 
there  were  whisperings  and  straightcnings  of  backs,  and  a 
stirring  of  feet  with  that  concrete  action  which  belongs  pecu 
liarly  to  a  waiting,  expectant  crowd,  but  is  impossible  to 
segregate  or  individually  deh'ne. 

Judge  Maxwell  opened  the  door  of  his  chamber,  which  had 
stood  tall  and  dark  and  solemnly  closed  all  morning  just 
a  little  way  behind  the  bench,  and  took  his  place.  At  the 
same  moment  the  sheriff,  doubtless  timing  himself  to  the 
smooth-working  order,  came  in  from  the  witness-room,  open 
ing  from  the  court-room  at  the  judge's  right  hand,  with  the 
prisoner. 

Joe  hesitated  a  little  as  the  sheriff  closed  the  door  behind 
them,  his  hand  on  the  prisoner's  shoulder,  as  if  uncertain  of 
what  was  next  required  of  him.  The  sheriff  pushed  him  for 
ward  with  commanding  gesture  toward  the  table  at  which 
Hammer  stood,  and  Joe  proceeded  to  cross  the  room  in  the 
fire  of  a  thousand  eyes. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  sheriff  might  have  made  the 
entrance  less  spectacular,  that  he  could  have  brought  him 
sooner,  or  another  way.  That  was  like  leading  him  across 
a  stage,  with  the  audience  all  in  place,  waiting  the  event. 
But  Joe  strode  along  ahead  of  the  sheriff  with  his  head  up, 
his  long,  shaggy  hair  smoothed  into  some  semblance  of  order, 


The  State  vs.  Newbolt 247 

his  spare  garments  short  and  outgrown  upon  his  bony  frame. 
His  arms  were  ignominiously  bound  in  the  sheriff's  handcuffs, 
linked  together  by  half  a  foot  of  dangling  chain. 

That  stirring  sigh  of  mingled  whispers  and  deep-drawn 
breaths  ran  over  the  room  again;  here  and  there  someone 
half  rose  for  a  better  look.  The  dim-eyed  old  men  leaned 
forward  to  see  what  was  coming  next ;  Uncle  Posen  Spratt  put 
up  his  steer's-horn  trumpet  as  if  to  blow  the  blast  of  judg 
ment  out  of  his  ear. 

Joe  sat  in  the  chair  which  Hammer  indicated;  the  sheriff 
released  one  hand  from  the  manacles  and  locked  the  other 
to  the  arm  of  the  chair.  Then  Captain  Taylor  closed  the 
door,  himself  on  the  outside  of  it,  and  walked  down  to  the 
front  steps  of  the  court-house  with  slow  and  stately  tread. 
There  he  lifted  his  right  hand,  as  if  to  command  the  attention 
of  the  world,  and  pronounced  in  loud  voice  this  formula : 

"Oy's,  oy's,  oy's!  The  hon'r'bl'  circuit  court  of  the 
/m/wteenth  judicial  de-strict  is  now  in  session,  pursu'nt  t' 
'j'urnm'nt!" 

Captain  Taylor  turned  about  as  the  last  word  went  echoing 
against  the  First  National  Bank,  and  walked  slowly  up  the 
stairs.  He  opened  the  court-room  door  and  closed  it ;  he 
placed  his  back  against  it,  and  folded  his  arms  upon  his 
breast,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  stain  on  the  wall. 

Judge  Maxwell  took  up  some  papers  from  the  desk,  and 
spread  one  of  them  before  him. 

"In  the  matter  of  Case  No.  79,  State  vs.  Newbolt. 
Gentlemen,  are  you  ready  for  trial  ?  " 

The  judge  spoke  in  low  and  confidential  voice,  meant  for 
the  attorneys  at  the  bar  only.  It  scarcely  carried  to  the 
back  of  the  room,  filled  with  the  sound-killing  vapors  from  five 
hundred  mouths,  and  many  of  the  old  men  in  the  front  seats 
failed  to  catch  it,  even  though  they  cupped  their  hands 
behind  their  ears. 


248  The  Bondboy 


Sam  Lucas,  prosecuting  attorney,  rose. 

Slight  and  pale,  with  a  thin  chest  and  a  stoop  forward,  he 
was  distinguished  by  the  sharp  eyes  beside  his  flat-bridged 
nose,  so  flattened  out,  it  seemed,  by  some  old  blow,  that  they 
could  almost  communicate  with  each  other  across  it.  His 
light,  loose  hair  was  very  long;  when  he  warmed  up  in  speak 
ing  he  shook  it  until  it  tumbled  about  his  eyes.  Then  it, 
was  his  habit  to  sweep  it  back  with  the  palm  of  his  hand 
in  a  long,  swinging  movement  of  the  arm.  It  was  a  most 
expressive  gesture ;  it  seemed  as  if  by  it  he  rowed  himself 
back  into  the  placid  waters  of  reasoning.  Now,  as  he  stood 
before  Judge  Maxwell,  he  swept  his  palm  over  his  forelock, 
although  it  lay  snug  and  unruffled  in  its  place. 

"  Your  honor,  the  state  is  ready,"  said  he,  and  remained 
standing. 

Hammer  pushed  his  books  along  the  table,  shuffled  his 
papers,  and  rose  ponderously.  lie  thrust  his  right,  hand 
into  the  bosom  of  his  coat  and  leaned  slightly  against  the 
left  in  an  attitude  of  scholarly  preparedness. 

"  Your  honor,  the  defense  is  ready,"  he  announced. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"SHE    COMETH   NOT,"   HE   SAID 

JOE,  his  face  as  white  as  some  plant  that  has  sprung  in 
a  dungeon,  bent  his  head  toward  his  mother,  and  placed 
his  free  hand  on  hers  where  it  lay  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"It  will  soon  be  over  with  now,  Mother,"  he  encouraged, 
with  the  hope  in  his  heart  that  it  would,  indeed,  be  so. 

With  an  underling  in  his  place  at  the  door,  Captain  Taylor 
advanced  to  take  charge  of  the  marshaling  of  the  jury  panel. 
There  ensued  a  great  bustling  and  tramping  as  the  clerk 
called  off  the  names  of  those  drawn. 

While  this  was  proceeding,  Joe  cast  his  eyes  about  the 
room,  animated  by  a  double  hope:  that  Alice  would  be  there 
to  hear  him  tell  his  stoi\y ;  that  Morgan  had  come  and 
was  in  waiting  to  supply  the  facts  which  honor  sealed  upon 
his  own  tongue.  He  could  sec  only  the  first  few  rows  of 
benches  with  the  certainty  of  individual  identification ;  they 
were  filled  with  strangers.  Beyond  them  it  was  conglomerate, 
that  fused  and  merged  thing  which  seemed  a  thousand  faces, 
yet  one;  that  blended  and  commingled  mass  which  we  call  the 
public.  Out  of  the  mass  Joe  Newbolt  could  not  sift  the  lean, 
shrewd  face  of  Curtis  Morgan,  nor  glean  from  it  the  brown 
hair  of  Alice  Price. 

The  discovery  that  Alice  was  not  there  smote  him  with  a 
feeling  of  sudden  hopelessness  and  abandonment ;  the  re 
proaches  which  he  had  kindled  against  himself  in  his  solitary 
days  in  jail  rose  up  in  redoubled  torture.  He  blamed  the 
rashness  of  an  unreasoning  moment  in  which  he  had  forgotten 
time  and  circumstance.  Her  interest  was  gone  from  him 

249 


250  The  Bondboy 


now,  where,  if  he  had  waited  for  vindication,  he  might  have 
won  her  heart. 

But  it  was  a  dream,  at  the  best,  he  confessed,  turning  away 
from  his  hungry  search  of  the  crowd,  his  head  drooping  for 
ward  in  dejection.  What  did  it  matter  for  the  world's  final 
exculpation,  if  Alice  were  not  there  to  hear  ? 

His  mother  nodded  to  somebody,  and  touched  his  hand. 
Ollie  it  was,  whom  she  greeted.  She  was  seated  near  at  hand, 
beside  a  fat  woman  with  a  red  and  greasy  face,  whose  air  of 
protection  and  large  interest  proclaimed  her  a  relative.  Joe 
thought  that  she  filled  pretty  well  the  bill  that  Ollie  had  mad.' 
out  of  her  mother,  on  that  day  when  she  had  scorned  her 
for  having  urged  her  into  marriage  with  Isom. 

Ollie  was  very  white  in  her  black  mourning  dress,  and 
thinner  of  features  than  when  he  had  seen,  her  last.  She 
smiled,  and  nodded  to  him,  with  an  air  of  timid  questioning, 
as  if  doubtful  whether  he  had  expected  it,  and  uncertain  how 
it  would  be  received.  Joe  bowed  his  head,  respectfully. 

What  a  wavside  flower  she  seemed,  thought  he;  how  com 
mon  beside  Alice!  Yet,  she  had  been  bright  and  refreshing 
in  the  dustv  war  where  he  had  found  her.  He  wondered 
why  she  was  not  within  the  rail  also,  near  Hammer,  if  she  was 
for  him;  or  near  the  prosecutor,  if  she  was  on  the  other  side. 

He  was  not  alone  in  this  speculation.  Many  others  won 
dered  over  that  point  also.  It  was  the  public  expectation 
that  she  naturally  would  assist  the  state  in  the  punishment 
of  her  husband's  slayer;  but  Sam  Lucas  was  not  paying  the 
slightest  attention  to  her,  and  it  was  not  known  whether  he 
even  had  summoned  her  as  a  witness. 

And  now  Captain  Tavlor  began  to  create  a  fresh  commo 
tion  bv  clearing  the  spectators  from  the  first  row  of  benches 
to  make  seats  for  the  jury  panel.  .Judge  Maxwell  was 
waiting  the  restoration  of  order,  leaning  back  in  his  chair. 
Joe  scanned  his  face. 


"She  Cometh  Not"  He  Said 251 

Judge  Maxwell  was  tall  and  large  of  frame,  from  which  the 
study  and  abstemiousness  of  his  life  had  worn  all  superfluous 
flesh.  His  face,  cleanly  shaved,  was  expressive  of  the  schol 
arly  attainments  which  made  his  decisions  a  national 
standard.  The  judge's  eyes  were  bushed  over  with  great, 
gray  brows,  the  one  forbidding  cast  in  his  countenance ;  they 
looked  out  upon  those  who  came  for  judgment  before  him 
through  a  pair  of  spring-clamp  spectacles  which  seemed  to 
ride  precariously  upon  his  large,  bony  nose.  The  glasses 
were  tied  to  a  slender  black  braid,  which  he  wore  looped  about 
his  neck. 

His  hair  was  long,  iron-gray,  and  thick ;  he  wore  it  brushed 
straight  back  from  his  brow,  without  a  parting  or  a  break. 
It  lay  in  place  so  smoothly  and  persistently  through  all  the 
labor  of  his  long  days,  that  strangers  were  sometimes  misled 
into  the  belief  that  it  was  not  his  own.  This  peculiar  fashion 
of  dressing  his  hair,  taken  with  the  length  and  leanness  of 
his  jaw,  gave  the  judge  a  cast  of  aquiline  severeness  which 
his  gray  eyes  belied  when  they  beamed  over  the  tops  of  his 
glasses  at  floundering  \-oung  counsel  or  timid  witness. 

Yet  they  could  shoot  darts  of  fire,  as  many  a  rash  lawyer 
who  had  fallen  under  their  censure  could  bear  witness.  At 
.such  moments  the  judge  had  a  peculiar  habit  of  drawing 
up  his  long  back  and  seemingly  to  distend  himself  with  all 
the  dignity  which  his  cumulative  years  and  honors  had 
endured,  and  of  bowing  his  neck  to  make  the  focus  of  his 
eyes  more  direct  as  he  peered  above  his  rimless  glasses.  He 
did  not  find  it  necessary  to  reprimand  an  attorney  often, 
never  more  than  once,  but  these  occasions  never  were 
forgotten.  In  his  twenty-five  years'  service  on  the  bench,  he 
never  had  been  reversed. 

Joe  felt  a  revival  of  hope  again  under  the  influence  of  these 
preparations  for  the  trial.  Perhaps  Alice  was  there,  some 
where  among  the  people  back  in  the  room,  he  thought.  And 

17 


252  The  Bondboy 


the  colonel,  also,  and  maybe  Morgan.  Who  could  tell?  There 
was  no  use  in  abandoning  hope  when  he  was  just  where  he 
could  see  a  little  daylight. 

Joe  sat  up  again,  and  lifted  his  head  with  new  confidence. 
His  mother  sat  beside  him,  watching  everything  with  a  sharp 
ness  which  seemed  especially  bent  on  seeing  that  Joe  was 
given  all  his  rights,  and  that  nothing  was  omitted  nor 
slighted  that  might  count  in  his  favor. 

She  watched  Hammer,  and  Captain  Taylor;  she  measured 
Sam  Lucas,  the  prosecutor,  and  she  weighed  the  judge. 
When  Hammer  did  something  that  pleased  her,  she  nodded ; 
when  the  prosecutor  interposed,  or  seemed  to  be  blocking  the 
progress  of  the  case,  she  shook  her  head  in  severe  censure. 

And  now  Joe  came  in  for  his  first  taste  of  the  musty  and 
ancient  savor  of  the  law.  He  had  hoped  that  morning  to 
walk  away  free  at  evening,  or  at  least  to  have  met  the  worst 
that  was  to  come,  chancing  it  that  Morgan  failed  to  appear 
and  give  him  a  hand.  But  he  saw  the  hours  waste  away 
with  the  most  exasperating  fiddling,  fussing  and  scratching 
over  unprofitable  straw. 

What  Hammer  desired  in  a  juryman,  the  prosecuting 
attorney  was  hotly  against,  and  what  pleased  the  state's 
attorney  seemed  to  give  Hammer  a  spasmodic  chill.  Instead 
of  selecting  twelve  intelligent  men,  the  most  intelligent  of  the 
sixty  empaneled,  both  Hammer  and  the  prosecutor  seemed 
determined  to  choose  the  most  dense. 

That  day's  sweating  labor  resulted  in  the  selection  of 
four  jurymen.  Hammer  seemed  cheered.  He  said  he  had 
expected  to  exhaust  the  panel  and  get  no  more  than  two,  at 
the  best.  Now  it  seemed  as  if  they  might  secure  the  full 
complement  without  drawing  another  panel,  and  that  would 
save  them  at  least  four  days.  That  must  have  been  an 
exceedingly  lucky  haul  of  empty  heads,  indeed. 

Joe  could  not  see  any  reason  for  elation.     The  prospect 


"She  Cometh  Not,"  He  Said 253 

of  freedom  —  or  the  worst  —  had  withdrawn  so  far  that 
there  was  not  even  a  pin-point  of  daylight  in  the  gloom. 
Alice  had  not  shown  her  face.  If  she  had  come  at  all,  she 
had  withheld  herself  from  his  hungry  eyes.  His  heart  was 
as  bleak  that  night  as  the  mind  of  the  densest  juryman 
agreed  upon  between  Hammer  and  the  attorney  for  the  state. 

Next  day,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  the  jury  was 
completed.  And  then  there  followed,  on  the  succeeding 
morning,  a  recital  by  the  prosecuting  attorney  of  what  he 
proposed  and  expected  to  prove  in  substantiation  of  the 
charge  that  Joe  Newbolt  had  shot  and  killed  Isom  Chase ; 
and  Hammer's  no  shorter  statement  of  what  he  was  prepared 
to  show  to  the  contrary. 

Owing  to  the  unprecedented  interest,  and  the  large  number 
of  people  who  had  driven  in  from  the  country,  Judge  Maxwell 
unbent  from  his  hard  conditions  on  that  day.  He  instructed 
Captain  Taylor  to  admit  spectators  to  standing-room  along 
the  walls,  but  to  keep  the  aisles  between  the  benches  clear. 

This  concession  provided  for  at  least  a  hundred  more  on 
lookers  and  listeners,  who  stood  forgetful  of  any  ache  in 
their  shanks  throughout  the  long  and  dragging  proceedings 
well  satisfied,  believing  that  the  coming  sensations  would 
repay  them  for  any  pangs  of  inconvenience  they  might  suffer. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day  of  the  trial  that 
Sol  Greening,  first  witness  for  the  state,  was  called. 

Sol  retailed  again,  in  his  gossipy  way,  and  wTith  immense 
enjoyment  of  his  importance,  the  story  of  the  tragedy  as  he 
had  related  it  at  the  inquest.  Sam  Lucas  gave  him  all  the 
rope  he  wanted,  even  led  him  into  greater  excursions  than 
Sol  had  planned.  Round-about  excursions,  to  be  sure,  and 
inconsequential  in  effect,  but  they  all  led  back  to  the  tragic 
picture  of  Joe  Newbolt  standing  beside  the  dead  body  of 
Isom  Chase,  his  hat  in  his  hand,  as  if  he  had  been  inter 
rupted  on  the  point  of  escape. 


2.54  The  Bondboy 


Sol  seemed  n  wonderfully  acute  man  for  the  recollection 
of  details,  but  there  was  one  tiling  that  had  escaped  his 
memory.  He  said  he  did  not  remember  whether,  when  he 
knocked  on  the  kitchen  door,  anybody  told  him  to  come  in 
or  not.  lie  was  of  the  opinion,  to  the  best  of  his  knowledge 
and  belief — the  words  being  supplied  by  the  prosecutor- 
that  he  just,  knocked,  and  stood  there  blowing  a  second  or 
two,  like  a  horse  that  had  been  put  to  a  hard  run,  and  then 
went  in  without  being  bidden.  Sol  believed  that  was  the  way 
of  it;  he  had  no  recollection  of  anybody  telling  him  to  come 
in. 

When  it  came  Hammer's  turn  to  question  the  witness,  he 
rose  with  an  air  of  patronizing  assurance.  He  called  Sol  bv 
his  first  name,  in  easy  familiarity,  although  he  never  had 
spoken  to  him  before  that  day.  lie  proceeded  as  if  he  in 
tended  to  establish  himself  in  the  man's  confidence  bv  gentle 
handling,  and  in  that  manner  cause  him  to  confound,  refute 
and  entangle  himself  bv  admissions  made  in  gratitude. 

I  Jut  Sol  was  a  suspicious  customer.  lie  hesitated  and  he 
hummed,  backed  and  sidled,  and  didn't  know  anything  more 
than  he  had  related.  The  bag  of  money  which  had  been  found 
with  Isom*s  body  had  been  introduced  by  the  state  for  id^nti- 
fication  by  Sol.  Hammer  took  up  the  matter  with  a  sudden 
turn  toward  sharpness  and  belligerency. 

'"You  say  that  this  is  the  same  sack  of  money  that  was 
there  on  the  floor  with  Isom  Chase's  body  when  you  entered 
the  room?"  lie  asked. 

"That's  it,"  nodded  Sol. 

"Tell  this  jury  how  you  know  it's  the  same  one!"  ordered 
Hammer,  in  stern  voice. 

"Well,  I  seen  it,"  said  Sol. 

"Oil,  yes,  you  saw  it.  Well,  did  you  go  over  to  it  and 
make  a  mark  on  it  so  you'd  know  it  again?" 

"No,  I  never  done  that,"  admitted  Sol. 


"She  Cometh  Not"  He  Said 255 

"Don't  you  know  the  banks  are  full  of  little  sacks  of 
money  like  that?  "  Hammer  wanted  to  know. 

"  I  reckon  maybe  they  air,"  Sol  replied. 

"  And  this  one  might  be  any  one  of  a  thousand  like  it, 
mightn't  it,  Sol?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  reckon  it  could.    That's  the  one  Isom  had." 

"  Did  you  step  over  where  the  dead  body  was  at  and  heft 
it?" 

"  'Course  I  never,"  said  Sol. 

"  Did  you  open  it  and  count  the  money  in  it,  or  tie  a 
string  or  something  onto  it  so  you'd  know  it  when  you  saw 
it  again?" 

"No,  I  never,"  said  Sol  sulkily. 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  this  is  it?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  seen  it,"  persisted  Sol. 

"Oh,  you  seen  it!"  repeated  Hammer,  sweeping  the  jury 
a  cunning  look  as  if  to  apprise  them  that  he  had  found 
out  just  what  he  wanted  to  know,  and  that  upon  that  simple 
admission  he  was  about  to  turn  the  villainy  of  Sol  Greening 
inside  out  for  them  to  see  with  their  own  intelligent  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  said  I  seen  it,"  maintained  Sol,  bristling  up  a  little. 

"  Yes,  I  heard  you  say  it,  and  now  I  want  you  to  tell  this 
jury  how  you  knoza!" 

Hammer  threw  the  last  word  into  Sol's  face  with  a  slam 
that  made  him  jump.  Sol  turned  red  under  the  whiskers, 
around  the  whiskers,  and  all  over  the  uncovered  part  of  him. 
He  shifted  in  his  chair ;  he  swallowed. 

"Well,  I  don't  just  know,"  said  he. 

"No,  you  don't  —  just  —  know!"  sneered  Hammer,  glow 
ing  in  oily  triumph.  He  looked  at  the  jury  confidentially, 
as  on  the  footing  of  a  shrewd  man  with  his  equally  shrewd 
audience. 

Then  he  took  up  the  old  rifle,  and  Isom's  bloody  coat  and 
shirt,  which  were  also  there  as  exhibits,  and  dressed  Sol  down 


2,56  The  Bondboy 


on  all  of  them,  working  hard  to  create  the  impression  in  the 
minds  of  the  jurors  that  Sol  Greening  was  a  born  liar,  and 
not  to  be  depended  on  in  the  most  trivial  particular. 

Hammer  worked  himself  up  into  a   sweat  and  emitted  a 
great    deal    of    perfume    of    barberish  —  and    barbarous  — 
character,  and  glanced  around  the  court-room  with  triumph 
in  his  eves  and  satisfaction  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

He  came  now  to  the  uncertainty  of  Sol's  memory  on  the 
matter  of  being  bidden  to  enter  the  kitchen  when  he  knocked. 
Sol  had  now  passed  from  doubt  to  certaint}7.  Come  to  think 
it  over,  said  he,  nobody  had  said  a  word  when  he  knocked 
at  that  door.  He  remembered  now  that  it  was  as  still  inside 
the  house  as  if  everybody  was  away. 

Mrs.  Greening  was  standing  against  the  wall,  having  that 
moment  returned  to  the  room  from  ministering  to  her  daugh 
ter's  baby.  She  held  the  infant  in  her  arms,  waiting  Sol's 
descent  from  the  witness-chair  so  she  might  settle  down  in 
her  place  without  disturbing  the  proceedings.  When  she 
heard  her  husband  make  this  positive  declaration,  her  mouth 
fell  open  and  her  eyes  widened  in  surprise. 

"  Why  Sol,"  she  spoke  up  reprovingly,  "  you  told  me 
Joe- 

It  had  taken  the  prosecuting  attorney  that  long  to  glance 
around  and  spring  to  his  feet.  There  his  voice,  in  a  loud 
appeal  to  the  court  for  the  protection  of  his  sacred  rights, 
drowned  that  of  mild  Mrs.  Greening.  The  judge  rapped, 
the  sheriff  rapped;  Captain  Taylor,  from  his  post  at  the 
door,  echoed  the  authoritative  sound. 

Hammer  abruptly  ceased  his  questioning  of  Sol,  after  the 
judge  had  spoken  a  few  crisp  words  of  admonishment,  not 
directed  in  particular  at  Mrs.  Greening,  but  more  to  the 
public  at  large,  regarding  the  decorum  of  the  court.  Sam 
Lucas  thereupon  took  Sol  in  hand  again,  and  drew  him 
on  to  replace  his  former  doubtful  statement  by  his  later 


"She  Cometh  Not"  He  Scad 257 

conclusion.  As  Sol  left  the  witness-chair  Hammer  smiled. 
He  handed  Mrs.  Greening's  name  to  the  clerk,  and  requested 
a  subpoena  for  her  as  a  witness  for  the  defense. 

Sol's  son  Dan  was  the  next  witness,  and  Hammer  put  him 
through  a  similar  course  of  sprouts.  Judge  Maxwell  allowed 
Hammer  to  disport  uncurbed  until  it  became  evident  that,  if 
given  his  way,  the  barber-lawyer  would  drag  the  trial  out 
until  Joe  was  well  along  in  middle  life.  He  then  admonished 
Hammer  that  there  were  bounds  fixed  for  human  existence, 
and  that  the  case  must  get  on. 

Hammer  was  a  bit  uppish  and  resentful.  He  stood  on  his 
rights ;  he  invoked  the  sacred  constitution ;  he  referred  to  the 
revised  statutes ;  he  put  his  hand  into  his  coat  and  spread  his 
legs  to  make  a  memorable  protest. 

Judge  Maxwell  took  him  in  hand  very  kindly  and  led 
safely  past  the  point  of  explosion  with  a  smile  of  indulgence. 
With  that  done,  the  state  came  to  Constable  Bill  Frost  and 
his  branching  mustaches,  which  he  had  trimmed  up  and  soaped 
back  quite  handsomely. 

To  his  own  credit  and  the  surprise  of  the  lawyers  who 
were  watching  the  case,  Hammer  made  a  great  deal  of  the 
point  of  Joe  having  gone  to  Frost,  voluntarily  and  alone,  to 
summon  him  to  the  scene  of  the  tragedy.  Frost  admitted 
that  he  had  believed  Joe's  story  until  Sol  Greening  had  point 
ed  out  to  him  the  suspicious  circumstances. 

"  So  you  have  to  have  somebody  else  to  do  your  thinkin' 
for  you,  do  you?  "  said  Hammer.  "Well,  you're  a  fine  officer 
of  the  law  and  a  credit  to  this  state ! " 

"I  object!"  said  the  prosecuting  attorney,  standing  up  in 
his  place,  very  red  around  the  eyes. 

The  judge  smiled,  and  the  court-room  tittered.  The  sheriff 
looked  back  over  his  shoulder  and  rapped  the  table  for  order. 

"Comment  is  unnecessary,  Mr.  Hammer,"  said  the  judge. 
"  Proceed  with  the  case." 


258  The   Boudboii 


And  so  that  weary  day  passed  in  trivial  questioning  on 
both  sides,  trivial  bickerings,  and  waste  of  time,  to  the  great 
edifications  of  everybody  but  Joe  and  his  mother,  and 
probably  the  judge.  Ten  of  the  state's  forty  witnesses  were 
disposed  of,  and  Hammer  was  as  moist  as  a  jug  of  cold  water 
in  a  shock  of  wheat. 

When  the  sheriff  started  to  take  Joe  back  to  jail,  the  lad 
stood  for  a  moment  searching  the  breaking-up  and  moving 
assembly  with  longing  eyes.  All  dav  he  had  sat  with  his 
back  to  the  people,  not  having  the  heart  to  look  around 
with  that  shameful  handcuff  and  chain  binding  his  arm  to 
the  chair.  If  Alice  had  been  there,  or  Colonel  Price,  neither 
had  come  forward  to  wisli  him  well. 

There  were  Ollie  and  her  mother,  standing  as  they  had 
risen  from  their  bench,  waiting  for  the  crowd  ahead  of  them 
to  set  in  motion  toward  the  door,  and  here  and  there  a  face 
from  his  own  neighborhood.  But  Alice  was  not  among  them. 
She  had  withdrawn  her  friendship  from  him  in  his  darkest 
hour. 

Neither  had  Morgan  appeared  to  put  his  shoulder  under 
the  hard-pressing  load  and  relieve  him  of  its  weight.  Day  by 
day  it  was  growing  heavier;  but  a  little  while  remained  until 
it  must  crush  out  his  hope  forever.  Certainly,  there  was  a 
way  out  without  Morgan  ;  there  was  a  way  open  to  him 
leading  back  into  the  freedom  of  the  world,  where  he  might 
walk  again  with  the  sunlight  on  his  face.  A  word  would  make 
it  clear. 

But  the  sun  would  never  strike  again  into  his  heart  if  he 
should  go  back  to  it  under  that  coward's  reprieve,  and  Alice 
—  Alice  would  scorn  his  memory. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    BLOW    OF    A    FRIEND 

)ROGRESS  was  swifter  the  next  day.  The  prosecuting 
attorney?  apparently  believing  that  he  had  made  his  case, 
dismissed  many  of  his  remaining  witnesses  who  had  nothing 
to  testify  to  in  fact.  When  he  announced  that  the  state 
rested,  there  was  a  murmur  and  rustling  in  the  room,  and 
audibly  expressed  wonderment  over  what  the  public  thought 
to  be  a  grave  blunder  on  Sam  Lucas's  part. 

The  state  had  not  called  the  widow  of  Isom  Chase  to  the 
stand  to  give  testimony  against  the  man  accused  of  her  hus 
band's  murder.  The  public  could  not  make  it  out.  What, 
did  it  mean  ?  Did  the  prosecutor  hold  her  more  of  an 
enemy  than  a  friend  to  his  efforts  to  convict  the  man  whose 
hand  had  made  her  a  widow  ?  Whispers  went  around,  grave 
faces  were  drawn,  wise  heads  wagged.  Public  charity  for 
Ollie  began  to  falter. 

"Him  and  that  woman,"  men  said,  nodding  toward  Joe, 
sitting  pale  and  inscrutable  beside  his  blustering  lawyer. 

The  feeling  of  impending  sensation  became  more  acute 
when  it  circulated  through  the  room,  starting  from  Captain 
Taylor  at  the  inner  door,  that  Ollic  had  been  summoned  as 
a  witness  for  the  defense ;  Captain  Taylor  had  served  the 
subpoena  himself. 

"  Well,  in  that  case,  Sam  Lucas  knew  what  he  was  doing," 
people  allowed.  "  Just  wait  ! "  It  was  as  good  as  a  spiritu 
ous  stimulant  to  their  lagging  interest.  "Just  you  wait  till 
Sam  Lucas  gets  hold  of  her,"  they  said. 

Hammer  began  the  defense  by  calling  his  character  wit- 

259 


260  The  Bondboy 


nesses  and  establishing  Joe's  past  reputation  for  "  truth  and 
veracity  and  general  uprightness." 

There  was  no  question  in  the  character  which  Joe's  neigh 
bors  gave  him.  They  spoke  warmly  of  his  past  record  among 
them,  of  his  fidelity  to  his  word  and  obligation,  and  of  the 
family  record,  which  Hammer  went  into  with  free  and 
unhampered  hand. 

The  prosecutor  passed  these  witnesses  with  serene  confi 
dence.  He  probably  believed  that  his  case  was  already  made, 
people  said,  or  else  he  was  reserving  his  fire  for  Isom's  widow, 
who,  it  seemed  to  everybody,  had  turned  against  nature  and 
her  own  interests  in  allying  herself  with  the  accused. 

The  morning  was  consumed  in  the  examination  of  these 
character  witnesses,  Hammer  finishing  with  the  last  of  thenl 
just  before  the  midday  adjournment.  The  sheriff  was  pre 
paring  to  remove  the  prisoner.  Joe's  hand  had  been  released 
from  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  the  officer  had  fastened  the 
iron  around  his  wrist.  The  proceeding  always  struck  Joe 
with  an  overwhelming  wave  of  degradation  and  now  he  stood 
with  bowed  head  and  averted  face. 

"  Come  on,"  said  the  sheriff,  goggling  down  at  him  with 
froggish  eyes  from  his  vantage  on  the  dais  where  the  witness- 
chair  stood,  his  long  neck  on  a  slant  like  a  giraffe's.  The 
sheriff  took  great  pleasure  in  the  proceeding  of  attaching  the 
irons.  It  was  his  one  central  moment  in  the  eyes  of  the 
throng. 

Joe  looked  up  to  march  ahead  of  the  sheriff  out  of  the 
room,  and  his  eyes  met  the  eyes  of  Alice.  She  was  not  far 
away,  and  the  cheer  of  their  quick  message  was  like  a  spoken 
word.  She  was  wearing  the  same  gray  dress  that  she  had 
worn  on  that  day  of  days,  with  the  one  bright  feather  in 
her  bonnet,  and  she  smiled,  nodding  to  him.  And  then  the 
swirl  of  bobbing  heads  and  moving  bodies  came  between  them 
and  she  was  lost. 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 261 

He  looked  for  her  again  as  the  sheriff  pushed  him  along 
toward  the  door,  but  the  room  was  in  such  confusion  that  he 
could  not  single  her  out.  The  judge  had  gone  out  through 
his  tall,  dark  door,  and  the  court-room  was  no  longer  an 
awesome  place  to  those  who  had  gathered  for  the  trial.  Men 
put  their  hats  on  their  heads  and  lit  their  pipes,  and  bit 
into  their  twists  and  plugs  of  tobacco  and  emptied  their 
mouths  of  the  juices  as  they  went  slowly  toward  the  door. 

Mrs.  Greening  was  the  first  witness  called  by  Hammer  after 
the  noon  recess.  Hammer  quickly  discovered  his  purpose 
in  calling  her  as  being  nothing  less  than  that  of  proving 
by  her  own  mouth  that  her  husband,  Sol,  was  a  gross  and 
irresponsible  liar. 

Hammer  went  over  the  whole  story  of  the  tragedy  —  Mrs. 
Greening  having  previously  testified  to  all  these  facts  as  a 
witness  for  the  state  —  from  the  moment  that  Sol  had  called 
her  out  of  bed  and  taken  her  to  the  Chase  home  to  support 
the  young  widow  in  her  hour  of  distraction  and  fear.  By 
slow  and  lumbering  ways  he  led  her,  like  a  blind  horse  flound 
ering  along  a  heavy  road,  through  the  front  door,  up  the 
stairs  into  Ollie's  room,  and  then,  in  his  own  time  and  fashion, 
he  arrived  at  what  he  wanted  to  ask. 

"Now  I  want  you  to  tell  this  jury,  Mrs.  Greening,  if  at 
any  time,  during  that  night  or  thereafter,  you  discussed  or 
talked  of  or  chatted  about  the  killing  of  Isom  Chase  with 
your  husband?"  asked  Hammer. 

"  Oh  laws,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Greening. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  was  rising  slowly  to  his  feet.  He 
seemed  concentrated  on  something ;  a  frown  knotted  his  brow, 
and  he  stood  with  his  open  hand  poised  as  if  to  reach  out 
quickly  and  check  the  flight  of  something  which  he  expected 
to  wing  in  and  assail  the  jury. 

Said  Hammer,  after  wiping  his  glistening  forehead  with 
a  yellow  silk  handkerchief: 


262  The  Bondboy 


"  Yes.  And  now,  Mrs.  Greening,  I  will  ask  von  if  at  any 
time  your  husband  ever  told  you  what  was  said,  if  anything, 
by  any  party  inside  of  that  house  when  he  run  up  to  the 
kitchen  door  that  night  and  knocked?" 

"I  object!"  said  the  prosecutor  sharply,  Hinging  out  his 
ready  hand. 

"Don't  answer  that  question!"  warned  the  judge. 

Mrs.  Greening  had  it  on  her  lips  ;  anybody  who  could  read 
print  on  a  signboard  could  have  told  what  they  were  shaped 
to  say.  She  held  them  there  in  their  preliminary  position 
of  enunciation,  pursed  and  wrinkled,  like  the  tied  end  of  a 
sausage-link. 

'*  I  will  frame  the  question  in  another  manner,"  said  Ham 
mer,  again  feeling  the  need  of  his  large  handkerchief. 

"  There  is  no  form  that  would  be  admissible,  your  honor," 
protested  the  prosecutor.  "  It  is  merely  hearsay  that  the 
counsel  for  the  defense  is  attempting  to  bring  out  and  get 
before  the  jury.  I  object!" 

"  Your  course  of  questioning,  Mr.  Hammer,  is  highly 
improper,  and  in  flagrant  violation  to  the  established  rules 
of  evidence,"  said  the  judge.  "You  must  confine  yourself 
to  proof  by  this  witness  of  what  she,  of  her  own  knowledge 
and  experience,  is  cognizant  of.  Nothing  else  is  permissible." 

"But,  your  honor,  I  intend  to  show  by  this  witness  that 
when  Sol  Greening  knocked  on  that  door  — 

"I  object!  She  wasn't  present;  she  has  testified  that  she 
was  at  home  at  that  time,  and  in  bed." 

This  from  the  prosecutor,  in  great  heat. 

"Your  honor,  I  intend  to  prove—  "  began  Hammer. 

"  This  line  of  questioning  is  not  permissible,  as  I  told  you 
before,"  said  the  judge  in  stern  reproof. 

But  Hammer  was  obdurate.  He  was  for  arguing  it,  and 
the  judge  ordered  the  sheriff  to  conduct  the  jury  from  the 
room.  Mrs.  Greening,  red  and  uncomfortable,  and  all  at 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 263 

sea  over  it,  continued  sitting  in  the  witness-chair  while  Ham 
mer  laid  it  off  according  to  his  view  of  it,  and  the  prosecutor 
came  back  and  tore  his  contentions  to  pieces. 

The  judge,  for  no  other  purpose,  evidently,  than  to  prove 
to  the  defendant  and  public  alike  that  he  was  unbiased  and 
fair  —  knowing  beforehand  what  his  ruling  must  be  — indulged 
Hammer  until  he  expended  his  argument.  Then  he  laid  the 
matter  down  in  few  words. 

Mrs.  Greening  had  not  been  present  when  her  husband 
knocked  on  the  door  of  Isom  Chase's  kitchen  that  night ;  she 
did  not  know,  therefore,  of  her  own  experience  what  was 
spoken.  Xo  matter  what  her  husband  told  her  he  said,  or 
anybody  else  said,  she  could  not  repeat  the  words  there  under 
oath.  It  would  be  hearsay  evidence,  and  such  evidence  was 
not  admissible  in  any  court  of  law.  No  matter  how  impor 
tant  such  testimony  might  appear  to  one  seeking  the  truth, 
the  rules  of  evidence  in  civilized  courts  barred  it.  Mrs. 
Greening's  lips  must  remain  sealed  on  what  Sol  said  Joe 
said,  or  anybody  said  to  someone  else. 

So  the  jury  was  called  back,  and  Mrs.  Greening  was 
excused,  and  Hammer  wiped  off  the  sweat  and  pushed  back 
his  cuff's.  And  the  people  who  had  come  in  from  their  farm 
steads  to  hear  this  trial  by  jury  —  all  innocent  of  the 
traditions  and  precedents  of  practice  of  the  law  —  marveled 
how  it  could  be.  Why,  nine  people  out  of  nine,  all  over  the 
township  where  Sol  Greening  lived,  would  take  his  wife's 
word  for  anything  where  she  and  Sol  had  different  versions 
of  a  story. 

It  looked  to  them  like  Sol  had  told  the  truth  in  the  first 
place  to  his  wife,  and  lied  on  the  witness-stand.  And  here 
she  was,  all  ready  to  show  the  windy  old  rascal  up,  and  they 
wouldn't  let  her.  Well,  it  beat  all  two  o'clock ! 

Of  course,  being  simple  people  who  had  never  been  at  a 
university  in  their  lives,  they  did  not  know  that  Form  and 


264  The  Bondboy 


Precedent  are  the  two  pillars  of  Strength  and  Beauty,  the 
Jachin  and  Boaz  at  the  entrance  of  the  temple  of  the  law. 
Or  that  the  proper  genuflections  before  them  are  of  more- 
importance  than  the  mere  bringing  out  of  a  bit  of  truth 
which  might  save  an  accused  man's  life. 

And  so  it  stood  before  the  jury  that  Sol  Greening  had 
knocked  on  the  door  of  Isom  Chase's  kitchen  that  night  and 
had  not  been  bidden  to  enter,  when  everybody  in  the  room, 
save  the  jury  of  twelve  intelligent  men  —  who  had  been  taken 
out  to  keep  their  innocence  untainted  and  their  judgment 
unbiased  by  a  gleam  of  the  truth  —  knew  that  he  had  sat 
up  there  and  lied. 

Hammer  cooled  himself  off  after  a  few  minutes  of  mopping, 
and  called  Ollie  Chase  to  the  witness-chair.  Ollie  seemed 
nervous  and  full  of  dread  as  she  stood  for  a  moment  stowing 
her  cloak  and  handbag  in  her  mother's  lap.  She  turned  back 
for  her  handkerchief  when  she  had  almost  reached  the  little 
gate  in  the  railing  through  which  she  must  pass  to  the 
witness-chair.  Hammer  held  it  open  for  her  and  gave  her 
the  comfort  of  his  hand  under  her  elbow  as  she  went  forward 
to  take  her  place. 

A  stir  and  a  whispering,  like  a  quick  wind  in  a  corn-field, 
moved  over  the  room  when  Ollie's  name  was  called.  Then 
silence  ensued.  It  was  more  than  a  mere  listening  silence ; 
it  was  impertinent.  Everybody  looked  for  a  scandal,  and 
most  of  them  hoped  that  they  should  not  depart  that  day  with 
their  long-growing  hunger  unsatisfied. 

Ollie  took  the  witness-chair  with  an  air  of  extreme  ner 
vousness.  As  she  settled  down  in  her  cloud  of  black  skirt, 
black  veil,  and  shadow  of  black  sailor  hat,  she  cast  about  the 
room  a  look  of  timid  appeal.  She  seemed  to  be  sounding  the 
depths  of  the  listening  crowd's  sympathy,  and  to  find  it 
shallow  and  in  shoals. 

Hammer  was  kind,  with  an  unctuous,  patronizing  gentle- 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 265 

ness.  He  seemed  to  approach  her  with  the  feeling  that  she 
might  say  a  great  deal  that  would  be  damaging  to  the 
defendant  if  she  had  a  mind  to  do  it,  but  with  gentle  adroit 
ness  she  could  be  managed  to  his  advantage.  Led  by  a 
question  here,  a  helping  reminder  there,  Ollie  went  over  her 
story,  in  all  particulars  the  same  as  she  had  related  at  the 
inquest. 

Hammer  brought  out,  with  many  confidential  glances  at 
the  jury,  the  distance  between  Ollie's  room  and  the  kitchen; 
the  fact  that  she  had  her  door  closed,  that  she  had  gone 
to  bed  heavy  with  weariness,  and  was  asleep  long  before 
midnight ;  that  she  had  been  startled  by  a  sound,  a  strange 
and  mysterious  sound  for  that  quiet  house,  and  had  sat  up 
in  her  bed  listening.  Sol  Greening  had  called  her  next,  in  a 
little  while,  even  before  she  could  master  her  fright  and  con 
fusion  and  muster  courage  to  run  down  the  hall  and  call  Joe. 

Hammer  did  well  with  the  witness ;  that  was  the  general 
opinion,  drawing  from  her  a  great  deal  about  Joe's  habit  of 
life  in  Isom's  house,  a  great  deal  about  Isom's  temper,  hard 
ways,  and  readiness  to  give  a  blow. 

She  seemed  reluctant  to  discuss  Isom's  faults,  anxious, 
rather,  to  ease  them  over  after  the  manner  of  one  whose 
judgment  has  grown  less  severe  with  the  lapse  of  time. 

Had  he  ever  laid  hands  on  her  in  temper?  Hammer  wanted 
to  know. 

"  Yes."  Her  reply  was  a  little  more  than  a  whisper,  with 
head  bent,  with  tears  in  her  sad  eyes.  Under  Hammer's 
pressure  she  told  about  the  purchase  of  the  ribbon,  of  Isom's 
iron  hand  upon  her  throat. 

The  women  all  over  the  room  made  little  sounds  of  pitying 
deprecation  of  old  Isom's  penury,  and  when  Hammer  drew 
from  her,  with  evident  reluctance  on  her  part  to  yield  it  up,  the 
story  of  her  hard-driven,  starved,  and  stingy  life  under 
Isom's  roof,  they  put  their  handkerchiefs  to  their  eyes. 


266  The  Bondboy 


All  the  time  Ollie  was  following  Hammer's  kind  leading, 
the  prosecuting  attorney  was  sitting  with  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  head,  balancing  his  weight  on  the  hinder  legs  of 
his  chair,  his  foot  thrown  over  his  knee.  Apparently  he  was 
bored,  even  worried,  by  Hammer's  pounding  attempts  to 
make  Isoin  out  a  man  who  deserved  .something  slower  and 
less  merciful  than  a  bullet,  years  before  he  came  to  his  violent 
end. 

Through  it  all  Joe  sat  looking  at.  Oilie.  great  pi'.y  for  her 
forlorn  condition  and  broken  spirit  in  his  honest  eyes.  She 
did  not  meet  his  glance,  not  for  one  wavering  second.  When 
she  went  to  the  stand  she  passed  him  with  bent  head;  in  the 
chair  she  looked  in  every  direction  but  his,  mainly  at  her 
hands,  clasped  in  her  lap. 

At  last  Hammer  seemed  skirmishing  in  his  mind  in  search 
of  some  stray  question  which  might  have  escaped  him,  which 
he  appeared  unable  to  find.  lie  turned  his  papers,  he  made 
a  show  of  considering  something,  while  the  witness  sat  with 
her  head  bowed,  her  half-closed  evelids  purple  from  much 
weeping,  worrying,  and  watching  for  the  coming  of  one  who 
had  taken  the  key  to  her  poor,  simple  heart  and  gone  his 
careless  way. 

"That's  all,  Missis  Chase,"  said  Hammer. 

Ollie  leaned  over,  picked  up  one  of  her  gloves  that  had 
fallen  to  the  floor,  and  started  to  leave  the  chair.  Her  relief 
was  evident  in  her  face.  The  prosecutor,  suddenly  alive, 
was  on  his  feet,  lie  stretched  out  his  arm,  staying  her  with 
a  commanding  gesture. 

"Wait  a  minute,  Mrs.  Chase,''  said  he. 

A  stir  of  expectation  rustled  through  the  room  again  as 
Ollie  resumed  her  seat.  People  moistened  their  lips,  suddenly 
grown  hot  and  drv. 

*'  Now,  just:  watch  Sam  Lucas!"  they  said. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Chase,"  began  the  prosecutor,  assuming  the 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 267 

polemical  attitude  common  to  small  lawyers  when  cross- 
examining  a  witness;  "I'll  ask  you  to  tell  this  jury  whether 
you  were  alone  in  your  house  with  Joe  Newbolt  on  the  night 
of  October  twelfth,  when  Isom  Chase,  your  husband,  was 
killed?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  This  man  Morgan,  the  book-agent,  who  had  been  board 
ing  with  you,  had  paid  his  bill  and  gone  away?" 

"  Yes,  "sir." 

"  And  there  was  absolutely  nobody  in  the  house  that  night 
but  j^ourself  and  Joe  Xewbolt?  " 

"Nobody  else." 

"  And  you  have  testified,  here  on  this  witness-stand,  before 
this  court  and  this  jury  "•  —  that  being  another  small  lawyer's 
trick  to  impress  the  witness  with  a  sense  of  his  own  unworthi- 
ness  —  "  that  you  went  to  bed  early  that  night.  Now,  where 
was  Joe  Newbolt?" 

"  I  guess  he  was  in  bed,"  answered  Ollie,  her  lips  white ; 
"  I  didn't  go  to  see." 

"  No,  you  didn't  go  to  see,"  repeated  the  prosecutor  with 
significant  stress.  "  Very  well.  Where  did  your  husband 
keep  his  money  in  the  house?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  never  saw  any  of  it,"  Ollie  answered. 

The  reply  drew  a  little  jiggling  laugh  from  the  crowd.  It 
rose  and  died  even  while  Captain  Taylor's  knuckles  were 
poised  over  the  panel  of  the  door,  and  his  loud  rap  fell  too 
late  for  all,  save  one  deep-chested  farmer  in  a  far  corner, 
who  must  have  been  a  neighbor  of  old  Isom.  This  man's 
raucous  mirth  seemed  a  roar  above  the  quiet  of  the  packed 
room.  The  prosecutor  looked  in  his  direction  with  a  frown. 
The  sheriff  stood  up  and  peered  over  that  way  threateningly. 

"  Preserve  order,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  said  the  judge  severely. 

The  sheriff  pounded  the  table  with  his  hairy  fist.  "Now,  I 
tell  you  I  don't  want  to  hear  no  more  of  this ! "  said  he. 

18 


268  The  Bondboy 


The  prosecutor  was  shaken  out  of  his  pose  a  bit  by  the 
courtroom  laugh.  There  is  nothing  equal  to  a  laugh  for  that, 
to  one  who  is  laboring  to  impress  his  importance  upon  the 
world.  It  took  him  some  time  to  get  back  to  his  former 
degree  of  heat,  skirmishing  around  with  incidental  question 
ing.  He  looked  over  his  notes,  pausing.  Then  he  faced 
Ollie  again  quickly,  leveling  his  ringer  like  a  pointer  of  direct 
accusation. 

"  Did  Joe  Newbolt  ever  make  love  to  you?  "  he  asked. 

Joe's  face  flushed  with  resentful  fire;  but  Ollie's  white 
calm,  forced  and  strained  that  it  was,  remained  unchanged. 

"  No,  sir  ;  he  never  did." 

"Did  he  ever  kiss  you?" 

"No,  I  tell  you,  he  didn't!"  Ollie  answered,  with  a  little 
show  of  spirit. 

Hammer  rose  with  loud  and  voluble  objections,  which  had, 
for  the  first  time  during  the  proceedings,  Joe's  hearty  indorse 
ment.  But  the  judge  waved  him  down,  and  the  prosecutor 
pressed  his  new  line  of  inquisition. 

"  You  and  Joe  Newbolt  were  thrown  together  a  good  deal, 
weren't  you,  Mrs.  Chase  —  you  were  left  there  alone  in  the 
house  while  your  husband  was  away  in  the  field,  and  other 
places,  frequently?" 

"  No,  not  very  much,"  said  Ollie,  shaking  her  head. 

"  But  you  had  various  opportunities  for  talking  together 
alone,  hadn't  you?" 

"  I  never  had  a  chance  for  anything  but  work,"  said  Ollie 
wearily. 

Unawed  by  the  sheriff's  warning,  the  assembly  laughed 
again.  The  sound  ran  over  the  room  like  a  scudding  cloud 
across  a  meadow,  and  when  the  sheriff  stood  again  to  set  his 
censorious  eye  upon  someone  responsible,  the  last  ripple  was 
on  the  farther  rows.  Nobody  can  catch  a  laugh  in  a  crowd ; 
it  is  as  evasive  as  a  pickpocket.  Nobody  can  turn  with 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 269 

watchful  eye  upon  it  and  tell  in  what  face  the  ribald  gleam 
first  breaks.  It  is  as  impossible  as  the  identification  of  the 
first  stalk  shaken  when  a  breeze  assails  a  field  of  grain. 

The  sheriff,  not  being  deeper  than  another  man,  saw  the 
fatuity  of  his  labor.  He  turned  to  the  court  with  a  clownish 
gesture  of  the  hands,  expressive  of  his  utter  inability  to  stop 
this  thing. 

"Proceed  with  the  case,"  said  the  judge,  understanding 
the  situation  better  than  the  sheriff  knew. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  labored  away  with  Ollie,  full  of 
the  feeling  that  something  masked  lay  behind  her  pale  reti 
cence,  some  guilty  conspiracy  between  her  and  the  bound 
boy,  which  would  show  the  lacking  motive  for  the  crime. 
He  asked  her  again  about  Morgan,  how  long  she  had  known 
him,  where  he  came  from,  and  where  he  went  —  a  question 
to  which  Ollie  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  have  had  the 
answer  herself. 

He  hung  on  to  the  subject  of  Morgan  so  persistently  that 
Joe  began  to  feel  his  throat  drying  out  with  a  closing  sen 
sation  which  he  could  not  swallow.  He  trembled  for  Ollie, 
fearing  that  she  would  be  forced  into  telling  it  all.  That 
was  not  a  woman's  story,  thought  he,  with  a  heart  full  of 
resentment  for  the  prosecutor.  Let  him  wait  till  Morgan 
came,  and  then  — 

But  what  grounds  had  he  now  for  believing  Morgan  might 
come?  Unless  he  came  within  the  next  hour,  his  coming  might 
be  too  late. 

"  You  were  in  bed  and  asleep  when  the  shot  that  killed  your 
husband  was  fired,  you  have  told  the  jury,  Mrs.  Chase?" 
questioned  the  prosecutor,  dropping  Morgan  at  last. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  how  did  it  come  that  when  Mrs.  Greening  and  her 
daughter-in-law  arrived  a  few  minutes  later  you  were  all 
dressed  up  in  a  white  dress  ?  " 


270  The  Bondboy 


"I  just  slipped  it  on,''  said  she. 

"You  just  slipped  it  on,"  repeated  the  prosecutor,  turning 
his  eyes  to  the  jury,  and  not  even  facing  Mrs.  Chase  as  he 
spoke,  but  reading  into  her  words  discredit,  suspicion,  and  a 
guilty  knowledge. 

"It  was  the  only  one  I  had  besides  two  old  wrappers.  It. 
was  the  one  I  was  married  in,  and  the  only  one  I  could  put 
on  to  look  decent  in  before  people,"  said  she. 

A  crowd  is  the  most  volatile  thing  in  the  world.  It  can 
laugh  and  sigh  and  groan  and  weep,  as  well  as  shout  and 
storm,  with  the  ease  of  an  infant,  and  then  immediately  regain 
its  immobility  and  fixed  attention.  With  Ollie's  simple  state 
ment  a  sound  rose  from  it  which  was  a  denunciation  and  a 
curse  upon  the  ashes  of  old  Isom  Chase.  It  was  as  if  a 
sympathetic  old  lady  had  shaken  her  head  and  groaned: 

"Oh,  shame  on  you  —  shame!" 

Hammer  gave  the  jury  a  wide-sweeping  look -of  satisfaction, 
and  made  a  note  on  the  tumbled  pile  of  paper  which  lav  in 
front  of  him. 

The  prosecutor  was  a  man  with  congressional  aspirations, 
and  he  did  not  care  to  prejudice  his  popularity  by  going 
too  far  in  baiting  a  woman,  especially  one  who  had  public 
sympathy  in  the  measure  that  it  was  plainly  extended  to 
Ollie.  lie  eased  up,  descending  from  his  heights  of  severity, 
and  began  to  address  her  respectfully  in  a  manner  that  was 
little  short  of  apology  for  what  his  stern  dutv  compelled 
him  to  do. 

"Now  I  will  ask  you,  Mrs.  Chase,  whether  vour  husband 
and  this  defendant,  Joe  Newbolt,  ever  had  words  in  your 
hearing?  " 

"Once,"  Ollie  replied. 

"Do  you  recall  the  day?" 

"  It  was  the  morning  after  Joe  came  to  our  house  to  work," 
said  she. 


Tlie  Blow  of  a  Friend 271 

"  Do  you  remember  what  the  trouble  was  about  and  what 
was  said?  " 

"  Well,  they  said  a  good  deal,"  Ollie  answered.  "  They 
fussed  because  Joe  didn't  get  up  when  Isom  called  him." 

Joe  felt  his  heart  contract.  It  seemed  to  him  that  Ollie 
need  not  have  gone  into  that ;  it  looked  as  if  she  was  bent  not 
alone  on  protecting  herself,  but  on  fastening  the  crime  on 
him.  It  gave  him  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Sweat  came  out  on 
his  forehead ;  his  palms  grew  moist.  He  had  looked  for  Ollie 
to  stand  by  him  at  least,  and  now  she  seemed  running  away, 
eager  to  tell  something  that  would  sound  to  his  discredit. 

"  You  may  tell  the  jury  what  happened  that  morning,  Mrs. 
Chase." 

Hammer's  objection  fell  on  barren  ground,  and  Ollie  told 
the  story  under  the  directions  of  the  judge. 

"  You  sav  there  was  a  sound  of  scuffling  after  Isom  called 
him?"  asked  the  prosecutor. 

"Yes,  it  sounded  like  Isom  shook  him  and  Joe  jumped  out 
of  bed." 

"And  what  did  Joe  Newbolt  say?" 

"  He  said,  '  Put  that  down !  I  warned  you  never  to  lift 
your  hand  against  me.  If  }rou  hit  me,  I'll  kill  you  in  your 
tracks!'" 

"  That's  what  you  heard  Joe  Newbolt  say  to  your  husband 
up  there  in  the  loft  over  your  head?" 

The  prosecutor  was  eager.  He  leaned  forward,  both  hands 
on  the  table,  and  looked  at  her  almost  hungrily.  The  jury 
men  shuffled  their  feet  and  sat  up  in  their  chairs  with  renewed 
interest.  A  hush  fell  over  the  room.  Here  was  the  motive 
at  the  prosecutor's  hand. 

"  That's  what  he  said,"  Ollie  affirmed,  her  gaze  bent  down 
ward. 

She  told  how  Isom  had  come  down  after  that,  followed  by 
Joe.  And  the  prosecutor  asked  her  to  repeat  what  she  had 


272  The  Eondboy 


heard  Joe  say  once  more  for  the  benefit  of  the  jury.  He  spoke 
with  the  uir  of  a  man  who  already  has  the  game  in  the  bag. 

When  the  prosecutor  was  through  with  his  profitable  cross- 
examination,  Hammer  tried  to  lessen  the  effect  of  Ollie's 
damaging  disclosure,  but  failed.  He  was  a  depressed  and 
crestfallen  man  when  he  gave  it  up. 

Ollie  stepped  down  from  the  place  of  inquisition  with  the 
color  of  life  coming  again  into  her  drained  lips  and  cheeks, 
the  breath  freer  in  her  throat.  Her  secret  had  not  been  torn 
from  her  fearful  heart ;  she  had  deepened  the  cloud  that  hung 
over  Joe  Newbolt's  head.  "Let  him  blab  now,"  said  she  in 
her  inner  satisfaction.  A  man  might  say  anything  against 
a  woman  to  save  his  neck ;  she  was  wise  enough  and  deep 
enough,  for  all  her  shallowness,  to  know  that  people  were 
quick  to  understand  a  thing  like  that. 

In  passing  back  to  her  place  beside  her  mother  she  had  not 
looked  at  Joe.  So  she  did  not  see  the  perplexity,  anxiety, 
even  reproach,  which  had  grown  in  Joe's  eyes  when  she 
testified  against  him. 

"  She  had  no  need  to  do  that,"  thought  Joe,  sitting  there 
in  the  glow  of  the  prosecutor's  triumphant  face.  He  had 
trusted  Ollie  to  remain  his  friend,  and,  although  she  had  told 
nothing  but  the  truth  concerning  his  rash  threat  against 
Isom,  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  had  done  so  with  a  studied 
intent  of  working  him  harm. 

His  resentment  rose  against  Ollie,  urging  him  to  betray  her 
guilty  relations  with  Morgan  and  strip  her  of  the  protecting 
mantle  which  he  had  wrapped  about  her  at  the  first.  Pie 
wondered  whether  Morgan  had  not  come  and  entered  into 
a  conspiracy  with  her  to  shield  themselves.  In  such  case 
what  would  his  unfolding  of  the  whole  truth  amount  to, 
discredited  as  he  already  was  in  the  minds  of  the  jurors  by 
that  foolish  threat  which  he  had  uttered  against  Isom  in 
the  thin  dawn  of  that  distant  day? 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 273 

Perhaps  Alice  had  gone  away,  also,  after  hearing  Ollie's 
testimony,  in  the  belief  that  he  was  altogether  unworthy, 
and  already  branded  with  the  responsibility  for  that  old 
man's  death.  He  longed  to  look  behind  him  and  search  the 
throng  for  her,  but  he  dared  not. 

Joe  bowed  his  head,  as  one  overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of 
guilt  and  shame,  yet  never  doubting  that  he  had  acted  for 
the  best  when  he  assumed  the  risk  on  that  sad  night  to  shield 
his  master's  wife.  It  was  a  thing  that  a  man  must  do,  that 
a  man  would  do  again. 

He  did  not  know  that  Alice  Price,  doubting  not  him,  but 
the  woman  who  had  just  left  the  witness-stand  and  resumed 
her  place  among  the  people,  was  that  moment  searching 
out  the  shallow  soul  of  Ollie  Chase  with  her  accusing  eyes. 
She  sat  only  a  little  way  from  Ollie,  in  the  same  row  of 
benches,  beside  the  colonel.  She  turned  a  little  in  her  place 
so  she  could  see  the  young  widow's  face  when  she  came  down 
from  the  stand  with  that  new  light  in  her  eyes.  Now  she 
whispered  to  her  father,  and  looked  again,  bending  forward 
a  little  in  a  way  that  seemed  impertinent,  considering  that 
it  was  Alice  Price. 

Ollie  was  disconcerted  by  this  attention,  which  drew  other 
curious  eyes  upon  her.  She  moved  uneasily,  making  a  bustle 
of  arranging  herself  and  her  belongings  in  the  seat,  her 
heart  troubled  with  the  shadow  of  some  vague  fear. 

Why  did  Alice  Price  look  at  her  so  accusingly?  Why  did 
she  turn  to  her  father  and  nod  and  whisper  that  way?  What 
did  she  know?  What  could  she  know?  What  was  Joe  New- 
bolt  and  his  obscure  life  to  Colonel  Price's  fine  daughter, 
sitting  there  dressed  better  than  any  other  woman  in  the 
room?  Or  what  was  Isom  Chase,  his  life,  his  death,  or  his 
widow,  to  her  ? 

Yet  she  had  some  interest  beyond  a  passing  curiosity,  for 
Ollie  could  feel  the  concentration  of  these  sober  brown  eyes 


274 The  Jiondboi/ 

upon  her,  even  when  she  turned  to  avoid  them.  She  recalled 
the  interest  that  Colonel  Price  and  his  daughter  had  taken  in 
Joe.  People  had  talked  of  it  at  first.  They  couldn't  under 
stand  it  any  more  than  she  could.  The  colonel  and  his 
daughter  had  visited  Joe  in  jail,  and  carried  hooks  to  him, 
and  treated  him  as  one  upon  their  own  level. 

What  had  Joe  told  them?     Had  the  coward  betrayed  her? 

Ollie  was  assailed  again  by  all  her  old,  dread  fears.  What 
if  they  should  gut  up  and  denounce  her?  With  all  of  Colonel 
Price's  political  and  social  influence,  would  not  the  public,  and 
the  judge  and  jury,  believe  Joe's  story  if  he  should  say  it 
was  true?  She  believed  now  that  it  was  all  arranged  for  Joe 
to  denounce  her,  and  that  timid  invasion  of  color  was 
stemmed  in  her  cheeks  again. 

It  was  a  lowering  day,  with  a  threat  of  unseasonable  dark 
ness  in  the  waning  afternoon.  The  judge  looked  at  his  watch  ; 
Captain  Taylor  stirred  himself  and  pushed  the  shutters  back 
from  the  two  windows  farthest  from  the  bench,  and  let  in 
more  light. 

People  did  not  know  just  what  was  coming  next,  but  the 
atmosphere* of  the  room  was  charged  with  a  foreboding  of 
something  big.  Xo  man  would  risk  missing  it  by  leaving, 
although  rain  was  threatening,  and  long  drives  over  dark 
roads  lay  ahead  of  many  of  the  anxious  listeners. 

Hammer  was  in  consultation  with  Joe  and  his  mother.  He 
seemed  to  be  protesting  and  arguing,  with  a  mighty  spreading 
of  the  hands  and  shaking  of  the  head.  The  judge  was 
writing  busily,  making  notes  on  his  charge  to  the  jury,  it 
was  supposed. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  took  advantage  of  the  momen 
tary  lull  to  get  up  and  stretch  his  legs,  which  he  did  literally, 
one  after  the  other,  shaking  his  shanks  to  send  down  his 
crumpled  pantaloons.  He  went  to  the  window  with  lounging 
stride,  hands  in  pockets,  and  pushed  the  sash  a  foot  higher. 


The  Blow  of  a  Friend 275 

There  he  stood,  looking  out  into  the  mists  which  hung  gray 
in  the  maple  trees. 

The  jurymen,  tired  and  unshaved,  and  over  the  momentary 
thrill  of  Ollie's  disclosure,  lolled  and  sprawled  in  the  box. 
It  seemed  that  they  now  accepted  the  thing  as  settled,  and  the 
prospect  of  further  waiting  was  boresome.  The  people  set 
up  a  little  whisper  of  talk,  a  clearing  of  throats,  a  blowing 
of  noses,  a  shifting  of  feet,  a  general  preparation  and  read 
justment  for  settling  down  again  to  absorb  all  that  might 
fall. 

The  country  folk  seated  in  the  vicinity  of  Alice  Price, 
among  whom  her  fame  had  traveled  far,  whom  many  of  their 
sons  had  loved,  and  languished  for,  and  gone  off  to  run  street 
cars  on  her  account,  turned  their  freed  attention  upon  her, 
nudging,  gazing,  gossiping. 

*'  Purty  as  a  picture,  ain't  she?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  set  her  'longside  of  Bessie  Graver 
over  at  Pink  Hill "  —  and  so  on. 

The  judge  looked  up  from  his  paper  suddenly,  as  if  the 
growing  sound  within  the  room  had  startled  him  out  of  his 
thought.  His  face  wore  a  fleeting  expression  of  surprise. 
He  looked  at  the  prosecutor,  at  the  little  group  in  conference 
at  the  end  of  the  table  below  him,  as  if  he  did  not  understand. 
Then  his  judicial  poise  returned.  He  tapped  with  his  pen 
on  the  inkstand. 

"  Gentlemen,  proceed  with  the  case,"  said  he. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  turned  from  the  window  with 
alacrity,  and  Hammer,  sweating  and  shaking  his  head  in  one 
last  gesture  of  protest  to  his  client  —  who  leaned  back  and 
folded  his  arms,  with  set  and  stubborn  face  —  rose 
ponderously.  He  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  great,  broad 
handkerchief,  and  squared  himself  as  if  about  to  try  a  high 
hurdle  or  plunge  away  in  a  race. 

"  Joseph  Newbolt,  take  the  witness-chair,"  said  he. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A   NAME    AND    A    MESSAGE 

WHEN"  Hammer  called  his  name,  Joe  felt  a  revival  of  his 
old  desire  to  go  to  the  witness-chair  and  tell  Judge 
Maxwell  all  about  it  in  his  own  way,  untenable  and  dangerous 
as  his  position  had  appeared  to  him  in  his  hours  of  depression. 
Now  the  sheriff  released  his  arm,  and  he  went  forward  eagerly. 
He  held  up  his  hand  solemnly  while  the  clerk  administered 
the  oath,  then  took  his  place  in  the  witness-chair.  Ollic's 
face  was  the  first  one  that  his  eyes  found  in  the  crowd. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  strong  light  had  been  focused  upon  it, 
leaving  the  rest  of  the  house  in  gloom.  The  shrinking 
appeal  which  lay  in  her  eyes  moved  him  to  pity.  He  strove 
to  make  her  understand  that  the  cunning  of  the  sharpest 
lawyer  could  set  no  trap  which  would  surprise  her  secret 
from  him,  nor  death  itself  display  terrors  to  frighten  it  out 
of  his  heart. 

It  seemed  that  a  sunbeam  broke  in  the  room  then,  but 
perhaps  it  was  only  the  clearing  away  of  doubt  and  vacilla 
tion  from  his  mind,  with  the  respectable  feeling  that  he  had 
regained  all  the  nobility  which  was  slipping  from  him,  and 
had  come  back  to  a  firm  understanding  with  himself. 

And  there  was  Alice,  a  little  nearer  to  the  bar  than  lie  had 
expected  to  see  her.  Her  face  seemed  strained  and  anxious, 
but  he  could  not  tell  whether  her  sympathy  was  dearer,  her 
feeling  softer  for  him  in  that  hour  than  it  would  have  been 
for  any  other  man.  Colonel  Price  had  yielded  his  scat  to  a 
woman,  and  now  he  stood  at  the  back  of  the  room  in  front 
of  the  inner  door  as  a  privileged  person,  beside  Captain 
Taylor. 

270 


A  Name  and  a  Message  277 

Mrs.  Newbolt  sat  straight-backed  and  expectant,  her  hand 
on  the  back  of  Joe's  empty  chair,  while  the  eager  people 
strained  forward  to  possess  themselves  of  the  sensation  which 
they  felt  must  soon  be  loosed  among  them. 

Joe's  hair  had  grown  long  during  his  confinement.  He 
had  smoothed  it  back  from  his  forehead  and  tucked  it  behind 
his  ears.  The  length  of  it,  the  profusion,  sharpened  the 
thinness  of  his  face;  the  depth  of  its  blackness  drew  out  his 
pallor  until  he  seemed  all  bloodless  and  cold. 

Three  inches  of  great,  bony  arm  showed  below  his  coat 
sleeves ;  that  spare  garment  buttoned  across  his  chest, 
strained  at  its  seams.  Joe  wrore  the  boots  which  he  had  on 
when  they  arrested  him,  scarred  and  work-worn  by  the  stubble 
and  thorns  of  Isom  Chase's  fields  and  pastures.  His  trousers 
were  tucked  into  their  wrinkled  tops,  which  sagged  half-way 
down  his  long  calves. 

Taken  in  the  figure  alone,  he  was  uncouth  and  oversized 
in  his  common  and  scant  gear.  But  the  lofty  nobility  of 
his  severe  young  face  and  the  high-lifting  forehead,  pro 
claimed  to  all  who  were  competent  in  such  matters  that  it 
was  only  his  body  that  was  meanly  clad. 

Hammer  began  by  asking  the  usual  questions  regarding 
nativity  and  age,  and  led  on  with  the  history  of  Joe's  appren 
ticeship  to  Chase,  the  terms  of  it,  its  duration,  compensation ; 
of  his  treatment  at  his  master's  hands,  their  relations  of 
friendliness,  and  all  that.  There  was  a  little  tremor  and 
unsteadiness  in  Joe's  voice  at  first,  as  of  fright,  but  this 
soon  cleared  away,  and  he  answered  in  steady  tones. 

The  jurors  had  straightened  up  out  of  their  wearied 
apathy,  and  were  listening  now  with  all  ears.  Joe  did  not 
appear  to  comprehend  their  importance  in  deciding  his  fate, 
people  thought,  seeing  that  he  turned  from  them  persistently 
and  addressed  the  judge. 

Joe  had  taken  the  stand  against  Hammer's  advice  and 


27H  The  Rondboy 

expectation,  for  he  had  hoped  in  the  end  to  be  able  to  make 
his  client  see  the  danger  of  such  a  step  unless  he  should 
go  forward  in  the  intention  of  revealing  everything.  Now 
the  voluble  lawyer  was  winded.  lie  proceeded  with  extreme 
caution  in  his  questioning,  like  one  walking  over  mined  ground, 
fearing  that  he  might  himself  lead  his  client  into  some  fateful 
admission. 

They  at  length  came  down  to  the  morning  that  Isom  vent 
awav  to  the  county-seat  to  serve  on  the  jury,  and  all  had 
progressed  handsomely.  Now  Joe  told  how  Isom  had  patted 
him  on  the  shoulder  that  morning,  for  it  had  been  the  aim  of 
Hammer  all  along  to  show  that  master  and  man  were  on  the 
most  friendly  terms,  and  how  Isom  had  expressed  confidence 
in  him.  He  recounted  how,  in  discharge  of  the  trust  that 
Isom  had  put  in  him,  he  had  come  downstairs  on  the  night, 
of  the  tragedy  to  look  around  the  premises,  following  in  all 
particulars  his  testimony  on  this  point  before  the  coroner's 
jury. 

Since  beginning  his  story,  Joe  had  not  looked  at  Olhe. 
His  attention  had  been  divided  between  Hammer  and  the 
judge,  turning  from  one  to  the  other.  He  addressed  the  jury 
only  when  admonished  by  Hammer  to  do  so,  and  then  he 
frequently  prefaced  his  reply  to  Hammer's  question  with: 

''  I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,"  as  if  he  feared  he  might 
have  hurt  their  feelings  by  his  oversight. 

Ollie  was  cold  with  apprehension  as  Joe  approached  the 
point  in  his  recital  where  the  danger  lay  for  her.  lie  seemed 
now  to  be  unaware  of  her  presence,  and  the  fact  that  lie 
did  not  seek  to  assure  her  with  his  eyes  gave  a  somber  color 
to  her  doubts.  She  knew  Hammer's  crafty  reputation,  and 
understood  his  eagerness  to  bring  his  client  off  clear.  Per 
haps  he  had  worked  on  Joe  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it. 
Maybe  he  was  going  to  tell. 

All  her  confidence  of  a  little  while  ago  dissolved,  the  ease 


A  Name  and  a  Message  279 

which  followed  her  descent  from  the  witness-chair  vanished. 
She  plucked  at  her  dark  vestments  with  trembling  hands, 
her  lips  half  open,  her  burning  eyes  on  Joe's  unmoved  face. 
If  he  should  tell  before  all  these  people,  before  that  stern, 
solemn  judge  —  if  he  should  tell! 

Joe  went  on  with  his  story,  Hammer  endeavoring  to  lead 
him,  to  the  best  of  his  altogether  inadequate  ability,  around 
the  dangerous  shoals.  But  there  was  no  avoiding  them. 
When  it  came  to  relating  the  particulars  of  the  tragedy, 
Hammer  left  it  all  to  Joe,  and  Joe  told  the  story,  in  all 
essentials,  just  as  he  had  told  it  under  the  questioning  of  the 
coroner. 

"  We  had  some  words,  and  Isom  started  for  the  gun," 
said  he. 

He  went  over  how  he  had  grappled  with  Isom  in  an  en 
deavor  to  prevent  him  turning  the  gun  against  him ;  told  of 
the  accidental  discharge  of  the  weapon ;  the  arrival  of  Sol 
Greening. 

Judge  Maxwell  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  listened,  his 
face  a  study  of  perplexity  and  interest.  Now  and  then  he 
lifted  his  drooping  lids  and  shot  a  quick,  searching  glance 
at  the  witness,  as  if  seeking  to  fathom  the  thing  that  he  had 
covered  —  the  motive  for  Isom  Chase's  act.  It  was  such 
an  inadequate  story,  yet  what  there  was  of  it  was  undoubtedly 
true. 

After  Hammer  had  asked  further  questions  tending  to 
establish  the  fact  of  good  feeling  and  friendship  between  Joe 
and  Isom,  he  gave  it  over,  knowing  full  well  that  Joe  had  set 
back  his  chances  of  acquittal  further  than  he  had  advanced 
them  by  his  persistency  in  testifying  as  he  had  done. 

The  jury  was  now  in  a  fog  of  doubt,  as  anybody  with 
half  an  eye  could  see,  and  there  was  Sam  Lucas  waiting,  his 
eyes  glistening,  his  hard  lips  set  in  anticipation  of  the  com 
ing  fight. 


280  The  Bondboy 


"  Take  the  witness,"  said  Hammer,  with  something  in  his 
manner  like  a  sigh. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  came  up  to  it  like  a  hound  on 
the  scent.  He  had  been  waiting  for  that  day.  He  proceeded 
with  Joe  in  a  friendly  manner,  and  went  over  the  whole  thing 
with  him  again,  from  the  day  that  he  entered  Isom's  house 
under  bond  service  to  the  night  of  the  tragedy.  Sam  Lucas 
went  with  Joe  to  the  gate;  he  stood  with  him  in  the  moon 
light  there ;  then  he  accompanied  him  back  to  the  house, 
clinging  to  him  like  his  own  garments. 

"And  when  you  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  stepped  inside 
of  that  room,  what  did  you  do?"  asked  the  prosecutor, 
arranging  the  transcript  of  Joe's  testimony  before  the  coro 
ner's  jury  in  his  hands. 

"  I  lit  the  lamp,"  said  Joe. 

"  Yes ;  you  lit  the  lamp.  Now,  why  did  you  light  the 
lamp?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  sec,"  replied  Joe. 

"  Exactly.     You  wanted  to  see." 

Here  the  prosecutor  moved  his  eyes  slowly  along  the  two 
rows  of  jurors  as  if  he  wanted  to  make  certain  that  none  of 
them  had  escaped,  and  as  if  he  desired  to  see  that  every  one  of 
them  was  alert  and  wakeful  for  what  he  was  about  to  develop. 

"Now,  tell  the  jury  what  you  wanted  to  see." 

"Object!"  from  Hammer,  who  rose  with  his  right  hand 
held  high,  his  small  finger  and  thumb  doubled  in  his  palm, 
like  a  bidder  at  an  auction. 

"Now,  your  honor,  am  I  to  be — '"  began  the  prosecutor 
with  wearied  patience. 

*'  Object !  "  interrupted  Hammer,  sweating  like  a  haymaker. 

"To  what  do  you  object,  Mr.  Hammer?"  asked  the  court 
mildly. 

"  To  anything  and  everything  he's  about  to  ask ! "  said 
Hammer  hotly. 


281 


The  court-room  received  this  with  a  laugh,  for  there  were 
scores  of  cornfield  lawyers  present.  The  judge  smiled,  bal 
ancing  a  pen  between  finger  and  thumb. 

"The  objection  is  overruled,"  said  he. 

"When  you  lit  that  lamp,  what  did  you  want  to  see?"  the 
prosecutor  asked  again. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  my  way  upstairs,"  Joe  answered. 

The  prosecutor  threw  off  his  friendly  manner  like  a  rustic 
flinging  his  coat  for  a  fight.  He  stepped  to  the  foot  of  the 
dais  on  which  the  witness  chair  stood,  and  aimed  his  finger  at 
Joe's  face. 

"What  were  you  carrying  in  your  hand?"  he  demanded, 
advancing  his  finger  a  little  with  every  word,  as  if  it  held 
the  key  to  the  mystery,  and  it  was  about  to  be  inserted  in 
the  lock. 

"  Nothing,  sir." 

"What  had  you  hidden  in  that  room  that  you  wanted  a 
light  to  find?" 

Ha,  he's  coming  down  to  it  now!  whispered  the  people, 
turning  wise  looks  from  man  to  man.  Uncle  Posen  Spratt 
set  his  horn  trumpet  to  his  ear,  gave  it  a  twist  and  settled 
the  socket  of  it  so  firmly  that  not  a  word  could  leak  out  on 
the  way. 

"  I  hadn't  hidden  anything,  sir,"  said  Joe. 

"Where  did  Isom  Chase  keep  his  money?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Had  you  ever  seen  him  putting  any  of  it  away  around 
the  barn,  or  in  the  haystack,  maybe?  " 

"No,  I  never  did,  sir,"  Joe  answered,  respectfully. 

The  prosecutor  took  up  the  now  historic  bag  of  gold- 
pieces  and  held  it  up  before  the  witness. 

"When  did  you  first  see  this  bag  of  money?"  he  asked, 
solemn  and  severe  of  voice  and  bearing. 

"  When  Isom  was  lying  on  the  floor,  after  he  was  shot." 


282  The 


''You  didn't  sue  it  when  he  v.  as  trying  to  get  the  gun, 
and  \vhen  von  say  YOU  were  strufffflinff  with  him,  (loin"  the 

*.  *       *  n  n          o  o 

l>est  YOU  could  to  hold  linn  hack?'' 

Joe  turned  to  the  judge  when  he  answered. 

''It  might  \\i\\  e  heen  that  Isoni  had  it  in  his  arm,  sir, 
when  lie  made  lor  the  place  where  the  gun  was  hanging. 
I  don't  know.  But  he  tried  to  keep  me  oil',  and  lie  hugged 
one  arm  to  his  side  like  he  was  trying  to  hide  something  he 
didn't  want  me  to  see." 

"You  never  saw  that  hag  of  money  until  the  moment  that 
Isom  Chase  fell,  YOU  say,"  said  the  prosecutor,  ''but  you  have 
testified  that  the  lirst  words  of  Isom  Chase  when  he  stepped 
into  the  kitehen  and  saw  you,  were  'I'll  kill  you!'  Why  did 
he  make  that  threat?" 

"  V\V,1,  Isom  was  a  man  of  unreasonable  temper,"  said  Joe. 

"Isn't  it  a  fact  that  Isom  (.'iiase  saw  you  with  that  bag  of 
money  in  your  hand  when  he  came  in,  and  sprung  for  the  gun 
to  protect  his  property?" 

Joe  turned  to  the  judge  again,  with  an  air  rf  respectful 
patience. 

"I  never  saw  that  little  pouch  of  money,  Judge  Maxwell, 
sir,  until  Isom  fell,  and  lay  stretched  out  there.'  on  the  floor. 
I  never  saw  that  much  money  before  in  my  hi'e.  and  I  expect 
that  I  thought  more  about  it  for  a  minute  than  I  did  about 
Isom.  It  all  happened  so  quick,  you  know,  sir." 

Joe  spoke  the  last  words  with  a  covert  appeal  in  them,  as 
if  placing  the  matter  before  the  judge  alone,  in  the  confidence 
of  his  superior  understanding,  and  the  belief  that  lie  would 
feel  their  truth. 

The  /judge  seemed  to  understand.  lie  nodded  encour 
agingly  and  smiled. 

"Do  vou  recall  the  morning  after  your  arrival  at  the  home 
of  Isom  Chase  to  begin  your  service  there,  when  you  threat 
ened  to  kill  him?"  asked  the  prosecutor. 


A  Name  and  a  Message  283 

"  I  do  recall  that  morning,"  admitted  Joe ;  "  but  I  don't 
feel  that  it's  fair  to  hold  me  to  account  for  words  spoken  in 
sudden  anger  and  under  trying  circumstances.  A  young 
person,  you  know,  sir"  —addressing  the  judge  —  "often 
times  says  things  he  don't  mean,  and  is  sorry  for  the  next 
minute.  You  know  how  hot  the  blood  of  youth  is,  sir,  and 
how  it  drives  a  person  to  say  more  than  he  means  sometimes." 

"Now,  your  honor,  this  defendant  has  counsel  to  plead  for 
him  at  the  proper  time,"  complained  the  prosecutor,  "  and 
I  demand  that  he  confine  himself  to  answering  my  questions 
without  comment." 

"Let  the  witness  explain  in  his  own  way,"  said  the  judge, 
who  probably  felt  that  this  concession,  at  least,  was  due 
a  man  on  trial  for  his  life.  There  was  a  finality  in  his  words 
which  did  not  admit  of  dispute,  and  the  prosecuting  attorney 
was  wise  enough  not  to  attempt  it. 

"  You  threatened  to  kill  Isom  Chase  that  morning  when 
he  laid  hands  on  you  and  pulled  you  out  of  bed.  Your  words 
were,  as  37ou  have  heard  Mrs.  Chase  testify  under  oath  in 
that  very  chair  where  }TOU  now  sit,  '  If  you  hit  me,  I'll  kill 
you  in  your  tracks ! '  Those  were  your  words,  were  they 
not?" 

"I  expect  I  said  something  like  that  —  I  don't  just  re 
member  the  exact  words  now  —  but  that  was  what  I  wanted 
him  to  understand.  I  don't  think  I'd  have  hurt  him  very 
much,  though,  and  I  couldn't  have  killed  him,  because  I 
wasn't  armed.  It  was  a  hot-blooded  threat,  that's  all  it  was." 

"  You  didn't  ordinarily  pack  a  gun  around  with  you, 
then?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  never  did  pack  a  gun." 

"  But  you  said  you'd  kill  old  Isom  up  there  in  the  loft 
that  morning,  and  you  said  it  in  a  way  that  made  him  think 
you  meant  it.  That's  what  you  wanted  him  to  understand, 
wasn't  it?  " 

19 


284  The  Bondboy 


"  I  talked  rough,  but  I  didn't  mean  it  —  not  as  bad  as  that, 
anyhow." 

"No,  that  was  just  a  little  neighborly  joke,  I  suppose," 
said  the  prosecutor  sneeringly.  He  was  playing  for  a  laugh 
and  he  got  it. 

Captain  Taylor  almost  skinned  his  knuckles  rapping  them 
down  that  time,  although  the  mirth  was  neither  general  nor 
boisterous.  Joe  did  not  add  to  Lucas's  comment,  and  he 
went  on: 

"  Well,  what  were  you  doing  when  Isom  Chase  opened  the 
door  and  came  into  the  kitchen  that  night  when  he  came 
home  from  serving  on  the  jury?" 

"I  was  standing  by  the  table,"  said  Joe. 

"With  your  hat  in  your  hand,  or  on  your  head,  or 
where?  " 

"  My  hat  was  on  the  table.  I  usually  left  it  there  at  night, 
so  it  would  be  handy  when  I  came  down  in  the  morning.  I 
threw  it  there  when  I  went  in,  before  I  lit  the  lain})." 

"And  you  say  that  Isom  opened  the  door,  came  in  anil 
said,  '  I'll  kill  you  ! '  Now,  what  did  he  say  before  that?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  sir,"  insisted  Joe. 

"  Who  else  was  in  that  room?  " 

"  Nobody,  sir." 

The  prosecutor  leaned  forward,  his  face  as  red  as  if  lie 
struggled  to  lift  a  heavy  weight. 

"Do  you  mean  to  sit  there  and  tell  this  jury  that  Isom 
Chase  stepped  right  into  that  room  and  threatened  to  kill 
you  without  any  reason,  without  any  previous  quarrel,  with 
out  seeing  you  doing  something  that  gave  him  ground  for 
his  threat?" 

Joe  moved  his  feet  uneasily,  clasped  and  unclasped  his  long 
fingers  where  thcv  rested  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  mois 
tened  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  The  struggle  was  coming  now. 
Thev  would  rack  him,  and  tear  him,  and  break  his  heart. 


A  Name  and  a  Message  285 

"  I  don't  know  whether  they'll  believe  it  or  not,"  said  he 
at  last. 

"  Where  was  Ollie  Chase  when  Isom  came  into  that  room?  " 
asked  the  prosecutor,  lowering  his  voice  as  the  men  who 
tiptoed  around  old  Isom  when  he  lay  dead  on  the  kitchen 
floor  had  lowered  theirs. 

"You  have  heard  her  say  that  she  was  in  her  room  up 
stairs,"  said  Joe. 

"But  I  am  asking  you  this  question,"  the  prosecutor 
reminded  him  sharply.  "Where  was  Ollie  Chase?" 

Joe  did  not  meet  his  questioner's  eyes  when  he  answered. 
His  head  was  bowed  slightly,  as  if  in  thought. 

"  She  was  in  her  room,  I  suppose.  She'd  been  in  bed  a 
long  time,  for  it  was  nearly  midnight  then." 

The  prosecuting  attorney  pursued  this  line  of  questioning 
to  a  persistent  and  trying  length.  He  wanted  to  know  all 
about  the  relations  of  Joe  and  Ollie ;  where  their  respective 
rooms  were,  how  they  passed  to  and  from  them,  and  the 
entire  scheme  of  the  household  economy. 

He  asked  Joe  pointedly,  and  swung  back  to  that  question 
abruptly  and  with  sharp  challenge  many  times,  whether  he 
ever  made  love  to  Ollie ;  whether  he  ever  held  her  hands,  kissed 
her,  talked  with  her  when  Isom  was  not  by  to  hear  what 
was  said. 

The  people  snuggled  down  and  forgot  the  oncoming  dark 
ness,  the  gray  forerunner  of  which  already  had  invaded  the 
room  as  they  listened.  This  was  what  they  wanted  to  hear ; 
this  was,  in  their  opinion,  getting  down  to  the  thing  that  the 
prosecutor  should  have  taken  up  at  the  beginning  and  pushed 
to  the  guilty  end.  They  had  come  there,  day  after  day,  and 
sat  patiently  waiting  for  that  very  thing.  But  the  great 
sensation  which  they  expected  seemed  a  tedious  thing  in  its 
development. 

Joe  calmly  denied  the  prosecutor's  imputations,  and  put 


280 The  Bondboy 

them  aside  with  an  evenness  of  temper  and  dignity  which 
lifted  him  to  a  place  of  high  regard  in  the  heart  of  every 
woman  present,  from  grandmother  to  high-school  miss.  For, 
even  though  a  woman  believes  her  sister  guiltv,  she  admires 
the  man  who  knows  when  to  hold  his  tongue. 

For  two  hours  and  more  Sam  Lucas  kept  hammering  away 
at  the  stern  front  of  the  defendant  witness.  He  had  expected 
to  break  him  down,  simple-minded  country  lad  that  lie  sup 
posed  him  to  be,  in  a  quarter  of  that  time,  and  draw  from 
him  Hie  truth  of  the  matter  in  every  detail.  It  was  becoming 
evident  that  Joe  was  feeling  the  strain.  The  tiresome  repe 
tition  of  the  questions,  the  unvarying  denial,  the  sudden 
sorties  of  the  prosecutor  in  attempt  to  surprise  him,  and  the 
constant  labor  of  guarding  against  it  —  all  this  was  heaping 
up  into  a  terrific  load. 

Time  and  again  Joe's  eyes  had  gone  to  the  magnet  of 
Alice  Trice's  face,  and  always  he  had  seen  her  looking  straight 
at  him  —  steadily,  understandingly,  as  if  she  read  his  purpose. 
lie  was  satisfied  that  she  knew  him  to  be  innocent  of  that 
crime,  as  well  as  any  of  the  indiscretions  with  Ollie  which  the 
prosecutor  had  attempted  to  force  him  to  admit.  If  he  could 
have  been  satisfied  with  that  assurance  alone,  his  hour 
would  have  been  blessed.  liut  he  looked  for  more  in  every 
fleeting  glance  that  his  eyes  could  wing  to  her,  and  in  the 
turmoil  of  his  mind  he  was  unable  to  find  that  which  he 
sought. 

Sam  Lucas,  seeing  that  the  witness  was  ncaring  the  point 
of  mental  and  physical  strain  at  which  men  go  to  pieces, 
and  the  vigil  which  they  have  held  above  their  secrets  becomes 
open  to  surprise,  hung  to  him  with  his  worriment  of  questions, 
scarcely  granting  him  time  to  sigh. 

Joe  was  pestered  out  of  his  calm  and  dignified  attitude. 
He  twisted  in  his  chair,  where  many  a  confounded  and  beset 
soul  had  writhed  before  him,  and  ran  his  fingers  through 


A  Name  and  a  Message  287 

his  long  hair,  disturbing  it  into  fantastic  disorder.  His 
breath  came  through  his  open  lips,  his  shoulders  sagged 
wearily,  his  long  back  was  bent  as  he  drooped  forward, 
whipping  his  fagged  mind  to  alertness,  guarding  every  word 
now,  weighing  every  answer  a  deliberate  while.  Sweat 
drenched  his  face  and  dampened  the  thick  Avisps  of  hair.  He 
scooped  the  welling  moisture  from  his  forehead  with  his 
crooked  finger  and  flung  it  to  the  floor  with  a  rustic  trick 
of  the  fields. 

Sam  Lucas  gave  him  no  respite.  Moment  by  moment  he 
pressed  the  panting  race  harder,  faster  ;  moment  by  moment  he 
grew  more  exacting,  imperative  and  pressing  in  his  demands 
for  unhesitating  replies.  While  he  harassed  and  urged  the 
sweating  victim,  the  prosecutor's  eyes  narrowed,  his  thin  lips 
pressed  hard  against  his  teeth.  The  moment  was  approaching 
for  the  final  assault,  for  the  fierce  delivery  of  the  last, 
invincible  dart. 

The  people  felt  it  coming,  and  panted  with  the  acute 
pleasures  of  expectation ;  Hammer  saw  its  hovering  shadow, 
and  rose  to  his  feet ;  Mrs.  Newbolt  suffered  under  the  strain 
until  she  rocked  from  side  to  side,  unconscious  of  all  and 
everybody  but  herself  and  Joe,  and  groaned. 

What  were  they  going  to  do  to  Joe  —  what  were  they 
going  to  do? 

Sam  Lucas  was  hurling  his  questions  into  Joe's  face,  faster 
and  faster.  His  voice  was  shaded  now  with  the  inflection  of 
accusation,  now  discredit ;  now  it  rose  to  the  pitch  of  condem 
nation,  now  it  sank  to  a  hoarse  whisper  of  horror  as  he  dwelt 
upon  the  scene  in  Isom  Chase's  kitchen,  the  body  of  old  Isom 
stretched  in  its  own  blood  upon  the  floor. 

Joe  seemed  to  stumble  over  his  replies,  to  grope,  to  flounder. 
The  agony  of  his  soul  was  in  his  face.  And  then,  in  a  moment 
of  tortured  desperation  he  rose  from  his  seat,  tall,  gaunt, 
disordered,  and  clasped  his  hand  to  his  forehead  as  if  driven 


288  The  Rondboy 


to  the  utmost  bound  of  his  endurance  and  to  the  outer  brink 
of  his  resources. 

The  prosecutor  paused  with  leveled  finger,  while  Joe,  re 
membering  himself,  pushed  his  hair  back  from  his  brow  like 
one  waking  from  a  hot  and  troubled  sleep,  and  resumed  his 
seat.  Then  suddenly,  in  full  volume  of  voice,  the  prosecutor 
flung  at  him  the  lance  for  which  he  had  been  weakening  Joe's 
defenses  through  those  long  and  torturing  hours. 

"Tell  this  jury  what  the  'words'  were  which  you  have 
testified  passed  between  you  and  Isom  Chase  after  he  made 
the  threat  to  kill  you,  and  before  he  ran  for  the  gun!" 

Hammer  bellowed  forth  an  objection,  which  was  quietly 
overruled.  It  served  its  purpose  in  a  way,  even  though  it 
failed  in  its  larger  intent,  for  the  prosecutor's  headlong 
assault  was  checked  by  it,  the  force  of  his  blow  broken. 

Joe  sat  up  as  if  cold  water  had  been  dashed  over  him. 
Instead  of  crushing  him  entirely,  and  driving  him  to  the  last 
corner  shrinking,  beaten  and  spiritless,  and  no  longer  capable 
of  resistance,  it  seemed  to  give  him  a  new  grip  on  himself,  to 
set  his  courage  and  defiance  again  on  the  fighting  line. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  resented  Hammer's  interference 
at  the  moment  of  his  victory — -as  he  believed  it- — and  turned 
to  him  with  an  ugly  scowl.  But  Hammer  was  imperturbable, 
lie  saw  the  advantage  that  he  had  gained  for  Joe  bv  his 
interposition,  and  that  was  more  than  he  had  expected.  Only 
a  moment  ago  Hammer  had  believed  everything  lost. 

Sam  Lucas  repeated  the  question.  Joe  drew  himself  up, 
cold  and  forbidding  of  front.  He  met  the  prosecutor  eye 
to  eye,  challenge  for  challenge. 

"I  can't  tell  vou  that,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"The  time  has  come  when  you  must  tell  it,  your  evasions 
and  dodgings  will  not  avail  you  any  longer.  What  were  those 
words  between  you  and  Isom  Chase?" 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  refuse  you — "  began  Joe. 


289 


"Answer  —  my  —  question ! "  ordered  the  prosecutor  in  loud 
voice,  banging  his  hand  upon  the  table  to  accent  its  terror. 

In  the  excitement  of  the  moment  people  rose  from  their 
seats,  women  dropping  things  which  they  had  held  in  their 
laps,  and  clasping  other  loose  articles  of  apparel  to  their 
skirts  as  they  stood  uncouthly,  like  startled  fowls  poising 
for  flight. 

Joe  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest  and  looked  into  the 
prosecutor's  inflamed  face.  He  seemed  to  erect  between  him 
self  and  his  inquisitor  in  that  simple  movement  an  impene 
trable  shield,  but  he  said  nothing.  Hammer  was  up,  object 
ing,  making  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  Captain  Taylor 
rapped  on  the  panel  of  the  old  oak  door ;  the  crouching 
figures  in  the  crowd  settled  back  to  their  seats  with  rustlings 
and  sighs. 

Sam  Lucas  turned  to  the  judge,  the  whiteness  of  deeper 
anger  sweeping  the  flush  of  excitement  from  his  face.  His 
voice  trembled. 

"I  insist,  your  honor,  that  the  witness  answer  my 
question ! " 

Hammer  demanded  that  the  court  instruct  his  client  re 
garding  his  constitutional  privileges.  Mrs.  Newbolt  leaned 
forward  and  held  out  her  hands  in  dumb  pleading  toward  her 
son,  imploring  him  to  speak. 

"  If  the  matter  which  you  are  withholding,"  began  the 
judge  in  formal  speech,  "would  tend  to  incriminate  you,  then 
you  are  acting  within  your  constitutional  rights  in  refusing 
to  answer.  If  not,  then  you  can  be  lodged  in  jail  for  contempt 
of  court,  and  held  there  until  you  answer  the  question  which 
the  prosecuting  attorney  has  asked  you.  Do  you  understand 
this?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  understand,"  said  Joe. 

"  Then,"  said  the  judge,  "  would  it  incriminate  you  to  reply 
to  the  prosecuting  attorney's  question?" 


290  The  Rondboy 


A  faint  flush  spread  on  Joe's  face  as  he  replied: 

"\o,  Judge  Maxwell,  it  wouldn't  incriminate1  me,  sir." 

Free  for  the  moment  from  his  watchful  sword-play  of  eyes 
with  the  prosecutor,  Joe  had  sought  Alice's  face  when  he 
replied  to  the  judge.  He  was  still  holding  her  eyes  when  the 
judge  spoke  again. 

'"Then  you  must  answer  the  question,  or  .stand  in  contempt 
of  court,"  said  he. 

Joe  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  The  sheriff,  perhaps  thinking 
that  he  designed  making  a  dash  for  liberty,  or  to  throw  him 
self  out  of  a  window,  rushed  forward  in  official  zeal.  The 
judge,  studying  Joe's  face  narrowly,  waved  the  officer  hack. 
Joe  lifted  a  hand  to  his  forehead  in  thoughtful  gesture  and 
stroked  back  his  hair,  standing  thus  in  studious  pose  a  little 
while.  A  thousand  eyes  were  bent  upon  him  ;  five  hundred 
palpitating  brains  were  aching  for  the  relief  of  his  reply. 
Joe  lifted  his  head  and  turned  solemnly  to  the  judge. 

"  I  can't  answer  the  prosecuting  attorney's  question,  sir," 
he  said.  ''I'm  ready  to  be  taken  back  to  jail." 

The  jurors  had  been  leaning  out  of  their  places  to  listen, 
the  older  ones  with  hands  cupped  to  their  ears.  Now  they 
settled  back  with  disappointed  faces,  some  of  them  shaking 
their  heads  in  depreciation  of  such  stubbornness. 

''You  are  making  a  point  of  honor  of  it?"  said  the  judge, 
sharply  but  not  unkindly,  looking  over  his  glasses  at  the  raw 
citadel  of  virtue  which  rose  towerlike  before  him. 

"  If  you  will  forgive  me,  sir,  I  have  no  more  to  say,"  said 
Joe,  a  flitting  shadow,  as  of  pain,  passing  over  his  face. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  judge. 

The  prosecutor,  all  on  fire  from  his  smothered  attempt  to 
uncover  the  information  which  he  believed  himself  so  nearly 
in  possession  of,  started  to  say  something,  and  Hammer  got 
the  first  syllable  of  his  objection  out  of  his  mouth,  when 
the  judge  waved  both  of  them  down.  He  turned  in  his 


A  Nam,e  and  a  Message 291 

chair  to  Joe,  who  was  waiting  calmly  now  the  next  event. 

Judge  Maxwell  addressed  him  again.  He  pointed  out  to 
Joe  that,  since  he  had  taken  the  witness-stand,  he  had  thus 
professed  his  willingness  to  lay  bare  all  his  knowledge  of  the 
tragedy,  and  that  his  reservation  was  an  indication  of  in 
sincerity.  The  one  way  in  which  he  could  have  withheld 
information  not  of  a  self-incriminating  nature,  was  for  him  to 
have  kept  off  the  stand.  He  showed  Joe  that  one'could  not 
come  forward  under  such  circumstances  and  tell  one  side  of 
a  story,  or  a  part  of  it,  confessing  at  the  same  time  that 
certain  pertinent  information  was  reserved. 

"No  matter  who  it  hurts,  it  is  your  duty  now  to  reveal 
the  cause  of  your  quarrel  between  yourself  and  Isom  Chase 
that  night,  and  to  repeat,  to  the  best  of  your  recollection,  the 
words  which  passed  between  you." 

He  explained  that,  unless  Joe  should  answer  the  question, 
it  was  the  one  duty  of  the  court  to  halt  the  trial  there  and 
send  him  to  jail  in  contempt,  and  hold  him  there,  his  case 
undecided,  until  he  would  answer  the  question  asked. 

Joe  bowed  respectfully  when  the  judge  concluded,  conveying 
in  that  manner  that  he  understood. 

"If  anything  could  be  gained  by  it,  sir,  by  anybody  —  ex 
cept  myself,  perhaps  —  or  if  it  would  bring  Isom  back  to 
life,  or  make  anybody  happier,  I  wouldn't  refuse  a  minute, 
sir,"  said  Joe.  "  What  Mr.  Lucas  asks  me  to  tell  I've 
refused  to  tell  before.  I've  refused  to  tell  it  for  my  own 
mother  and  Mr.  Hammer  and  —  others.  I  respect  the  law 
and  this  court,  sir,  as  much  as  any  man  in  this  room,  and 
it  pains  me  to  stand  in  this  position  before  you,  sir. 

"But  I  can't  talk  about  that.  It  wouldn't  change  what 
I've  told  about  the  way  Isom  was  killed.  What  I've  told  you 
is  the  truth.  What  passed  between  Isom  and  me  before  he 
took  hold  of  the  gun  isn't  mine  to  tell.  That's  all  there  is 
to  be  said,  Judge  Maxwell,  sir." 


292 The  Bondboy 

"  You  must  answer  the  prosecuting  attorney's  question," 
said  Judge  Maxwell  sternly.  "  No  matter  what  motive  of 
honor  or  fealty  to  the  dead,  or  thought  of  sparing  the  living, 
may  lie  behind  your  concealment  of  these  facts,  the  law  does 
not,  cannot,  take  it  into  account.  Your  duty  now  is  to  reply 
to  all  questions  asked,  and  you  will  be  given  another  oppor 
tunity  to  do  so.  Proceed,  Mr.  Prosecutor." 

Hammer  hud  given  it  up.  He  sat  like  a  man  collapsed, 
bending  over  his  papers  on  the  table,  trying  to  make  a  front 
in  his  defeat  before  the  public.  The  prosecuting  attorney 
resumed  the  charge,  framing  his  attack  in  quick  lunges.  He 
was  in  a  clinch,  using  the  short-arm  jab. 

"After  Isom  Chase  came  into  the  room  you  had  words?" 

"  We  had  some  words,"  replied  Joe  slowly,  weary  that  this 
thing  should  have  to  be  gone  over  again. 

"  Were  they  loud  and  boisterous  words,  or  were  they  low 
and  subdued?  " 

"  Well,  Isom  talked  pretty  loud  when  he  was  mad,"  said  Joe. 

"Loud  enough  for  anybody  upstairs  to  hear  —  loud 
enough  to  wake  anybody  asleep  up  there?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Joe  coldly,  resentful  of  this  flanking 
subterfuge. 

He  must  go  through  that  turmoil  of  strain  and  suffering 
again,  all  because  Morgan,  the  author  of  this  evil  thing,  had 
lacked  the  manhood  to  come  forward  and  admit  his  misdeeds. 

The  thoughts  will  travel  many  a  thousand  miles  while  the 
tongue  covers  an  inch ;  even  while  Joe  answered  he  was  think 
ing  of  this.  More  crowded  upon  him  as  he  waited  the  prose 
cutor's  next  question.  Why  should  he  suffer  all  that  public 
misjudgment  and  humiliation,  all  that  pain  and  twisting  of 
the  conscience  on  Morgan's  account?  What  would  it  avail 
in  the  end?  Perhaps  Ollie  would  prove  unworthy  his  sacrifice 
for  her,  as  she  already  had  proved  ungrateful.  Even  then 
the  echo  of  her  testimony  against  him  was  in  his  ears. 


293 


Why  should  he  hold  out  faithfully  for  her,  in  the  hope  that 
Morgan  would  come  —  vain  hope,  fruitless  dream!  Morgan 
would  not  come.  He  was  safe,  far  away  from  there,  having 
his  laugh  over  the  muddle  that  he  had  made  of  their  lives. 

"  I  will  ask  you  again  —  what  were  the  words  that  passed 
between  you  and  Isom  Chase  that  night?" 

Joe  heard  the  question  dimly.  His  mind  was  on  Morgan 
and  the  white  road  of  the  moonlit  night  when  he  drove  away. 
No,  Morgan  would  not  come. 

"Will  you  answer  my  question?  "  demanded  the  prosecutor. 

Joe  turned  to  him  with  a  start.     "  Sir?"  said  he. 

The  prosecutor  repeated  it,  and  stood  leaning  forward  for 
the  answer,  his  hands  on  the  table.  Joe  bent  his  head  as  if 
thinking  it  over. 

And  there  lay  the  white  road  in  the  moonlight,  and  the 
click  of  buggy  wheels  over  gravel  was  in  his  ears,  as  he  knew 
it  must  have  sounded  when  Morgan  drove  away,  easy  in  his 
loose  conscience,  after  his  loose  way.  Why  should  he  sacrifice 
the  promise  of  his  young  life  by  meekly  allowing  them  to 
fasten  the  shadow  of  this  dread  tragedy  upon  him,  for  which 
Morgan  alone  was  to  blame? 

It  was  unfair  —  it  was  cruelly  unjust!  The  thought  of  it 
was  stifling  the  breath  in  his  nostrils,  it  was  pressing  the 
blood  out  of  his  heart!  They  were  waiting  for  the  answer, 
and  why  should  he  not  speak?  WThat  profit  was  there  in 
silence  when  it  would  be  so  unjustly  interpreted? 

As  Ollie  had  been  thoughtless  of  Isem,  so  she  might  be 
thoughtless  of  him,  and  see  in  him  only  a  foolish,  weak  instru 
ment  to  use  to  her  own  advantage.  Why  should  he  seal  his 
lips  for  Ollie,  go  to  the  gallows  for  her,  perhaps,  and  leave 
the  blight  of  that  shameful  end  upon  his  name  forever? 

He  looked  up.  His  mind  had  made  that  swift  summing  up 
while  the  prosecutor's  words  were  echoing  in  the  room.  They 
were  waiting  for  his  answer.  Should  he  speak? 


29-1  The  Bomlboi/ 


Mrs.  Ncwbolt  had  risen.  There  were  tears  on  her  old, 
worn  checks,  a  yearning  in  her  eyes  that  smote  him  with 
an  accusing  pang.  He  had  brought  that  sorrow  upon  her, 
he  had  left  her  to  suffer  under  it  when  a  word  would 
have  cleared  it  away;  when  a  word  —  a  word  for  which  they 
waited  now  —  would  make  her  dun  day  instantly  bright.  Ollie 
weighed  against  his  mother;  Ollie,  the  tainted,  the  unclean. 

His  eyes  found  Ollie's  as  he  coupled  her  name  with  his 
mother's  in  his  mind.  She  was  shrinking  against  her  mother's 
shoulder  —  she  had  a  mother,  too  —  pale  and  afraid. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  stretched  out  her  hands.  The  scars  of  her 
toilsome  years  were  upon  them;  the  distortion  of  the  labor 
she  had  wrought  for  him  in  his  helpless  infancy  was  set  upon 
their  joints.  He  was  placing  his  liberty  and  his  life  in 
jeopardy  for  Ollie,  and  his  going  would  leave  mother  without 
a  stay,  after  her  sacrifice  of  youth  and  hope  and  strength 
for  him. 

Why  should  he  be  called  upon  to  do  this  thing  —  why,  tchy? 

The  question  was  a  wild  cry  within  his  breast,  lunging 
like  a  wolf  in  a  leash  to  burst  his  lips.  His  mother  drew  a 
step  nearer,  unstayed  by  the  sheriff,  unchecked  by  the  judge. 
She  spread  her  poor  hands  in  supplication  ;  the  tears  coursed 
down  her  brown  old  cheeks. 

"Oh,  my  son,  my  son  —  my  little  son!"  she  said. 

He  saw  her  dimly  now,  for  tears  answered  her  tears.  All 
was  silent  in  that  room,  the  silence  of  the  forest  before  the 
hurricane  grasps  it  and  bends  it,  and  the  lightnings  reave 
its  limbs. 

"Mother,"  said  he  chokingly,  "I  —  I  don't  know  what 
to  do!" 

"Tell  it  all,  Joe!"  she  pleaded.  "Oh,  tell  it  all  — tell 
it  all!" 

Her  voice  was  little  louder  than  a  whisper,  yet  it  was  heard 
by  every  mother  in  that  room.  It  struck  down  into  their 


A  Name  and  a  Message  295 

hearts  with  a  sharp,  riving  stab  of  sympathy,  which  nothing 
but  sobs  would  relieve. 

Men  clamped  their  teeth  and  gazed  straight  ahead  at  the 
moving  scene,  unashamed  of  the  tears  which  rolled  across 
their  cheeks  and  threaded  down  their  beards ;  the  prose 
cutor,  leaning  on  his  hands,  bent  forward  and  waited. 

Joe's  mind  was  in  a  tornado.  The  debris  of  past  resolu 
tions  Avas  flung  high,  and  swirled  and  dashed  in  a  wild  tumult. 
There  was  nothing  tangible  in  his  reasoning,  nothing  plain  in 
his  sight.  A  mist  was  before  his  eyes,  a  fog  was  over  his 
reason.  Only  there  was  mother,  with  those  soul-born  tears 
upon  her  face.  It  seemed  to  him  then  that  his  first  and  his 
most  sacred  duty  was  to  her. 

The  seconds  were  as  hours.  The  low  moaning  of  women 
sounded  in  the  room.  Somebody  moved  a  foot,  scraping  it 
in  rude  dissonance  across  the  floor.  A  girl's  voice  broke  out 
in  sudden  sobbing,  which  was  as  quickly  stifled,  with  sharp 
catching  of  the  breath. 

Judge  Maxwell  moved  in  his  chair,  turning  slowly  toward 
the  witness,  and  silence  fell. 

They  were  waiting ;  they  were  straining  against  his  doubts 
and  his  weakening  resolution  of  past  days,  with  the  concen 
tration  of  half  a  thousand  minds. 

A  moment  of  joy  is  a  drop  of  honey  on  the  tongue;  a 
moment  of  pain  is  bitterer  than  any  essence  that  Ignatius 
ever  distilled  from  his  evil  bean.  The  one  is  as  transitory 
as  a  smile ;  the  other  as  lingering  as  a  broken  bone. 

Joe  had  hung  in  the  balance  but  a  matter  of  seconds,  but 
it  seemed  to  him  a  day.  Now  he  lifted  his  slim,  white  hand 
and  covered  his  eyes.  They  were  waiting  for  the  word  out 
there,  those  uplifted,  eager  faces;  the  judge  waited,  the  jury 
waited,  mother  waited.  They  were  wringing  it  from  him,  and 
honor's  voice  was  dim  in  its  counsel  now,  and  far  away. 

They  were  pressing  it  out  of  his  heart.     The  law  demanded 


296  The  Bondboy 


it,  justice  demanded  it,  said  the  judge.  Duty  to  mother 
demanded  it,  and  the  call  of  all  that  lay  in  life  and  liberty. 
But  for  one  cool  breath  of  sympathy  before  he  yielded  —  for 
one  gleam  of  an  eye  that  understood ! 

He  dropped  his  hand  at  his  side,  and  cast  about  him  in 
hungry  appeal.  Justice  demanded  it,  and  the  law.  But  it 
would  be  ignoble  to  yield,  even  though  Morgan  came  the  next 
hour  and  cleared  the  stain  away. 

Joe  opened  his  lips,  but  they  were  dry,  and  no  sound  issued. 
He  must  speak,  or  his  heart  would  burst.  He  moistened  his 
lips  with  his  hot  tongue.  They  were  demanding  his  answer 
with  a  thousand  burning  eyes. 

"Tell  it,  Joe  —  tell  it  all!"  pleaded  his  mother,  reaching 
out  as  if  to  take  his  hand. 

Joe's  lips  parted,  and  his  voice  came  out  of  them,  strained 
and  shaken,  and  hoarse,  like  the  voice  of  an  old  and  hoary 
man. 

"  Judge  Maxwell,  your  honor " 

"No,  no!     Don't  tell  it,  Joe!" 

The  words  sounded  like  a  warning  call  to  one  about  to 
leap  to  destruction.  They  broke  the  tenseness  of  that  mo 
ment  like  the  noise  of  a  shot.  It  was  a  woman's  voice,  rich 
and  full  in  the  cadence  of  youth  ;  eager,  quick,  and  strong. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  turned  sharply,  her  face  suddenly  clouded, 
as  if  to  administer  a  rebuke;  the  prosecutor  wheeled  about 
and  peered  into  the  room  with  a  scowl.  Judge  Maxwell 
rapped  comrnandingly,  a  frown  on  his  face. 

And  Joe  Xewbolt  drew  a  long,  free  breath,  while  relief 
moved  over  his  troubled  face  like  a  waking  wind  at  dawn. 
He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  taking  another  long  breath,  as 
if  life  had  just  been  granted  him  at  a  moment  when  hope 
seemed  gone. 

The  effect  of  that  sudden  warning  had  been  stunning.  For 
a  few  seconds  the  principals  in  the  dramatic  picture  held 


A  Name  and  a  Message 297 

their  poses,  as  if  standing  for  the  camera.  And  then  the 
lowering  tempest  in  Judge  Maxwell's  face  broke. 

"  Mr.  Sheriff,  find  out  who  that  was  and  bring  him  or  her 
forward !  "  he  commanded. 

There  was  no  need  for  the  sheriff  to  search  on  Joe's  behalf. 
Quick  as  a  bolt  his  eyes  had  found  her,  and  doubt  was  con 
sumed  in  the  glance  which  passed  between  them.  Now  he 
knew  all  that  he  had  struggled  to  know  of  everything.  First 
of  all,  there  stood  the  justification  of  his  long  endurance. 
He  had  been  right.  She  had  understood,  and  her  opinion 
was  valid  against  the  world. 

Even  as  the  judge  was  speaking,  Alice  Price  rose. 

"  It  was  I,  sir,"  she  confessed,  no  shame  in  her  manner, 
no  contrition  in  her  voice. 

But  the  ladies  in  the  court-room  were  shocked  for  her,  as 
ladies  the  world  over  are  shocked  when  one  of  their  sisters 
does  an  unaccountably  human  thing.  They  made  their  feel 
ings  public  by  scandalized  aspirations,  suppressed  oh-h-hs, 
and  deprecative  shakings  of  the  heads. 

The  male  portion  of  the  audience  was  moved  in  another 
direction.  Their  faces  were  blank  with  stunned  surprise,  with 
little  gleams  of  admiration  moving  a  forest  of  whiskers 
here  and  there  whose  owners  did  not  know  who  the  speaker 
was. 

But  to  everybody  who  knew  Alice  Price  the  thing  was 
unaccountable.  It  was  worse  than  interrupting  the  preacher 
in  the  middle  of  a  prayer,  and  the  last  thing  that  Alice  Price, 
with  all  her  breeding,  blood  and  education  would  have  been 
expected  to  do.  That  was  what  came  of  leveling  oneself  to 
the  plane  of  common  people  and  "  pore "  folks,  and  visiting 
them  in  jail,  they  said  to  one  another  through  their  wide- 
stretched  eyes. 

Alice  went  forward  and  stood  before  the  railing.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  drew  out  a  chair  and  offered  it  to  Mrs. 


298  The   It  on  d  boy 


Newbolt,  wlio  sat,  staring  at  Alice  witli  no  man  knew  what 
in  her  heart.  Her  face  was  a  strange  index  of  disappoint 
ment,  surprise,  and  vexation.  She  said  nothing,  and  Hammer, 
glowing  with  the  dawning  of  hope  of  something  that  he  could 
not  well  define,  squared  around  and  gave  Alice  a  large,  fat 
smile. 

Judge  Maxwell  regarded  her  with  more  surprise  than 
severity,  it  appeared.  lie  adjusted  his  glasses,  bowed  his 
neck  to  look  over  them,  frowned,  and  cleared  his  throat.  And 
poor  old  Colonel  Price,  overwhelmed  entirely  by  this  un 
toward  breach  of  his  daughter's,  stood  beside  Captain  Taylor 
shaking  his  old  white  head  as  if  he  was  undone  forever. 

"I  am  surprised  at  this  demonstration.  Miss  Price,"  said 
the  judge.  "Coming  from  one  of  your  standing  in  this 
community,  it  is  doubly  shocking,  for  your  position  in  society 
should  be,  of  itself,  a  guarantee  of  your  loyalty  to  the  estab 
lished  organization  of  order.  It  should  be  your  endeavor 
to  uphold  rather  than  defeat,  the  ends  of  justice. 

"The  defendant  at  the  bar  has  the  benefit  of  counsel,  who 
is  competent,  we  believe,  to  advise  him.  Your  admonition 
was  altogether  out  of  place.  I  am  pained  and  humiliated 
for  you.  Miss  Price. 

"This  breach  is  one  which  could  not,  ordinarily,  be  passed 
over  simply  with  a  reprimand.  But,  allowing  for  the  im 
petuosity  of  youth,  and  the  emotion  of  the  moment,  the  court 
will  excuse  you  with  this.  Similar  outbreaks  must  be  guarded 
against,  and  any  further  demonstration  will  be  dealt  with 
severely.  Gentlemen,  proceed  with  the  case." 

Alice  stood  through  the  /judge's  lecture  unflinchingly.  Her 
face  was  pah-,  for  she  realized  the  enormity  of  her  transgres 
sion,  but  there  was  neither  fear  nor  regret  in  her  heart.  She 
met  the  judge's  eyes  with  honest  courage,  and  bowed  her 
head  in  acknowledgment  of  his  leniency  when  he  dismissed 
her. 


A  Name  and  a  Message  299 

From  her  seat  she  smiled,  faintly  above  the  tremor  of  her 
breast,  to  Joe.  She  was  not  ashamed  of  what  she  had  done, 
she  had  no  defense  to  make  for  her  words.  Love  is  its 
own  justification,  it  wants  no  advocate  to  plead  for  it  before 
the  bar  of  established  usage.  Its  statutes  have  needed  no 
revision  since  the  beginning,  they  will  stand  unchanged  until 
the  end. 

The  prosecuting  attorney  had  seen  his  castle  fall,  de 
molished  and  beyond  hope  of  repair,  before  a  charge  from  the 
soft  lips  of  a  simple  girl.  Long  and  hard  as  he  had  labored 
to  build  it  up,  and  encompass  Joe  within  it,  it  was  in  ruins 
now,  and  he  had  no  heart  to  set  his  hand  to  the  task  of  raising 
it  again  that  day.  He  asked  for  an  adjournment  to  morning, 
which  the  weary  judge  granted  readily. 

People  moved  out  of  the  room  with  less  haste  and  noise  than 
usual,  for  the  wonder,  and  the  puzzle,  of  what  they  had  heard 
and  seen  was  over  them. 

What  was  the  aim  of  that  girl  in  shutting  that  big, 
gangling,  raw-boned  boy's  mouth  just  Avhen  he  was  opening 
it  to  speak,  and  to  speak  the  very  words  which  they  had  sat 
there  patiently  for  days  to  hear?  What  was  he  to  Alice 
Price,  and  what  did  she  know  of  the  secret  which  he  had  been 
keeping  shut  behind  his  stubborn  lips  all  that  time?  That 
i  was  what  they  wanted  to  know,  and  that  was  what  troubled 
them  because  they  could  not  make  it  out  at  all. 

Colonel  Price  made  his  way  forward  against  the  outpouring 
stream  to  Alice.  lie  adjusted  her  cloak  around  her  shoulders, 
and  whispered  to  her.  She  was  very  pale  still,  but  her  eyes 
were  fearless  and  bright,  and  they  followed  Joe  Xewbolt  with 
a  tender  caress  as  the  sheriff  led  him  out,  his  handcuffs  in 
his  pocket,  the  prisoner's  long  arms  swinging  free. 

Ollie  and  her  mother  were  standing  near  Colonel  Price  and 
Alice,  waiting  for  them  to  move  along  and  open  the  passage 
to  the  aisle.  As  Alice  turned  from  looking  after  Joe,  the 

20 


300  The  Bomlboy 


eyes  of  the  young  women  met,  and  again  Ollie  felt  the  cold, 
stern  question  which  Alice  seemed  to  ask  her,  and  to  insist 
with  unsparing  hardness  that  she  answer. 

A  little  way  along  Alice  turned  her  head  and  held  Ollie's 
eyes  with  her  own  again.  As  plain  as  words  they  said  to  the 
young  widow  who  cringed  at  her  florid  mother's  side: 

"You  slinking,  miserable,  trembling  coward,  I  can  see  right 
down  to  the  bottom  of  your  heart!" 

Joe  returned  to  his  cell  with  new  vigor  in  his  step,  new 
warmth  in  his  breast,  and  a  new  hope  in  his  jaded  soul. 
There  was  no  doubt  now,  no  groping  for  a  sustaining  hand. 
Alice  had  understood  him,  and  Alice  alone,  when  all  the  world 
assailed  him  for  his  secret,  and  would  have  torn  it  from  his 
lips  in  shame.  She  had  given  him  the  sympathy,  for  the  lack 
of  which  he  must  have  fallen  ;  the  support,  for  the  want  of 
which  he  must  have  been  lost. 

For  a  trying  moment  that  afternoon  he  had  forgotten, 
almost,  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  under  a  gentleman's 
obligation.  There  had  been  so  much  uncertainty,  and  fear, 
and  so  many  clouded  days.  But  a  man  had  no  excuse,  he 
contended  in  his  new  strength,  even  under  the  direst  pressure, 
to  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a  gentleman.  Morgan 
had  done  that.  Morgan  had  not  come.  But  perhaps  Mor 
gan  was  not  a  gentleman  at  all.  That  would  account  for  a 
great  deal,  everything,  in  fact. 

There  would  be  a  way  out  without  Morgan  now.  Since 
Alice  understood,  there  would  be  shown  a  way.  lie  should 
not  perish  on  account  of  Morgan,  and  even  though  he  never 
came  it  would  not  matter  greatly,  now  that  Alice  understood. 

lie  was  serene,  peaceful,  and  unworried,  as  he  had  not  been 
for  one  moment  since  the  inquest.  The  point  of  daylight 
had  come  again  into  his  dark  perspective;  it  was  growing 
and  gleaming  with  the  promise  and  cheer  of  a  star. 

Colonel  Price  had  no  word  of  censure  for  his  daughter  as 


A  Name  and  a  Message  301 

they  held  their  way  homeward,  and  no  word  of  comment  on 
her  extraordinary  and  immodest  —  according  to  the  colonel's 
view  —  conduct  fell  from  his  lips  until  they  were  free  from 
the  crowd.  Then  the  colonel  : 

"Well,  Alice?" 

"  Yes,  Father." 

"Why  did  you  do  it  —  why  didn't  you  let  him  tell  it,  child? 
They'll  hang  him  now,  I  tell  you,  they'll  hang  that  boy  as 
sure  as  sundown !  And  he's  no  more  guilty  of  that  old  man's 
death  than  I  am." 

"  No,  he  isn't,"  said  she. 

"Then  why  didn't  you  let  him  talk,  Alice?  What  do  you 
know?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  —  an}rthing  that  would  be  evi 
dence,"  she  replied.  "But  he's  been  a  man  all  through  this 
cruel  trial,  and  I'd  rather  see  him  die  a  man  than  live  a 
coward ! " 

"  They'll  hang  that  boy,  Alice,"  said  the  colonel,  shaking 
his  head  sadly.  "Nothing  short  of  a  miracle  can  save  him 
now." 

"  No,  they'll  never  do  that,"  said  she,  in  quiet  faith. 

The  colonel  looked  at  her  with  an  impatient  frown. 

"What's  to  save  him,  child?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  admitted,  thoughtfully.  Then  she 
proceeded,  with  an  earnestness  that  was  almost  passionate : 
"  It  isn't  for  himself  that  he's  keeping  silent  —  I'm  not  afraid 
for  him  on  account  of  what  the}7  wanted  to  make  him  tell ! 
Can't  you  see  that,  Father,  don't  you  understand?" 

"  No,"  said  the  colonel,  striking  the  pavement  sharply  with 
his  stick,  "  I'll  be  switched  if  I  do !  But  I  know  this  bad 
business  has  taken  hold  of  you,  Alice,  and  changed  you 
around  until  you're  nothing  like  the  girl  I  used  to  have. 

"  It's  too  melancholy  and  sordid  for  you  to  be  mixed  up  in. 
I  don't  like  it.  We've  done  what  we  can  for  the  boy,  and  if 


302  The  Bomlboi/ 


he  wants  to  be  stubborn  and  run  his  neck  into  the  noose  on 
account  of  some  fool  thing  or  another  that  he  thinks  nobody's 
got  a  right  to  know,  I  don't  see  where  you're  called  on 'to 
shove  him  along  on  his  road.  And  that's  what  this  thing 
that  you've  done  today  amounts  to,  as  far  as  I  can  see." 

"  I'm  sorry  that  you're  displeased  with  me,  Father,"  said 
she,  but  with  precious  little  indication  of  humility  in  her 
voice,  "but  I'd  do  the  same  thing  over  again  tomorrow.  Joe 
didn't  want  to  tell  it.  What  he  needed  just  then  was  a 
friend." 

That  night  after  supper,  when  Colonel  Price  sat  in  the 
library  gazing  into  the  coals,  Alice  came  in  softly  and  put 
her  arm  about  his  shoulders,  nestling  her  head  against  his, 
her  cheek  warm  against  his  temple. 

"You  think  I'm  a  bold,  brazen  creature,  Father,  I'm 
afraid,"  she  said. 

"The  farthest  thing  from  it  in  this  world,"  said  he.  "  I've 
been  thinking  over  it,  and  I  know  that  you  were  right.  It's 
inscrutable  to  me,  Alice;  I  lack  that  God-given  intuition  that 
a  woman  has  for  such  tilings.  But  I  know  that  you  were 
right,  and  time  and  events  will  justify  you." 

"You  remember  that  both  Mr.  Hammer  and  Mr.  Lucas 
asked  Joe  and  Mrs.  Chase  a  good  deal  about  a  book-agent 
boarder,  Curtis  Morgan?"  said  she. 

"Onlv  in  the  way  of  incidental  questioning,"  he  said. 
"Why/" 

"Don't  you  remember  him?  He  was  that  tall,  fair  man 
who  sold  us  the  History  of  the  World,  wasn't  he?" 

"Why,  it  is  the  same  name,"  said  the  colonel.  "He  was 
a  man  with  a  quick  eye  and  a  most  curious  jumble  of  frag 
mentary  knowledge  on  many  subjects,  from  roses  to  rattle 
snakes.  Yes,  I  remember  the  fellow  very  well,  since  you  speak 
of  him." 

"Yes.     And  he  had  little  fair  curls  growing  close  to  his 


A  Name  and  a  Message  303 

eyes,"  said  she.     "  It's  the  same  man,  I'm  certain  of  that." 

"Why,  what  difference  does  it  make?"  asked  lie. 

"Not  any  —  in  particular  —  I  suppose,"  she  sighed. 

The  colonel  stroked  her  hair. 

"  Well,  Alice,  you're  taking  this  thing  too  much  at  heart, 
anyhow,"  he  said. 

Later  that  night,  long  after  Joe  Newbolt  had  wearied  him 
self  in  pacing  up  and  down  his  cell,  with  the  glow  of  his  new 
hope  growing  brighter  as  his  legs  grew  heavier,  Alice  sat  by 
her  window,  gazing  with  fixed  eyes  into  the  dark. 

On  her  lips  there  was  a  name  and  a  message,  which  she 
sent  out  from  her  heart  with  all  the  dynamic  intensity  of  her 
strong,  young  being.  A  name  and  a  message ;  and  she  sped 
them  from  her  lips  into  the  night,  to  roam  the  world  like  a 
searching  wind. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   SHADOW   OF  A   DREAM 

JUDGK  LITTLE  Mas  moving  about  mysteriously.  It  was 
said  that  lie  had  found  track  of  Isoin's  heir,  and  that  the 
count v  was  to  have  its  second  great  sensation  soon. 

Judge  Little  did  not  confirm  this  report,  but,  like  the 
middling-good  politician  that  he  was,  he  entered  no  denial. 
As  long  as  the  public  is  uncertain  either  way,  its  suspense 
is  more  exquisite,  the  pleasure  of  the  final  revelation  is  more.' 
sweet. 

Riding  home  from  the  trial  on  the  day  that  Joe  made  his 
appearance  on  the  witness-stand,  Sol  Greening  fell  in  with 
the  judge  and,  with  his  nose  primed  to  follow  the  scent  of  anv 
new  gossip,  Sol  worked  his  way  into  the  matter  of  the  will. 

"Well,  I  hear  you've  got  track  of  Isom's  boy  at  last, 
Judge?*'  said  he,  pulling  up  close  beside  the  judge's  mount, 
so  the  sound  of  the  horses'  feet  sucking  loose  from  the  clav  of 
the  muddy  road  would  not  cheat  him  out  of  a  word. 

Judge  Little  rode  a  low,  yellow  lior.se,  commonly  called  a 
"buckskin"  in  that  country.  He  had  come  to  town  unpro 
vided  with  a  rubber  coat,  and  his  long  black  garment  of 
ordinary  wear  was  damp  from  the  blowing  mists  which  pre 
saged  the  coming  rain.  In  order  to  save  the  skirts  of  it,  in 
which  the  precious  and  mysterious  pockets  were,  the  judgr 
had  gathered  them  up  about  his  waist,  as  an  old  woman 
gathers  her  skirts  on  wash-day.  He  sat  in  the  saddle,  holding 
them  that  way  with  one  hand,  while  he  handled  the  reins  with 
the  other. 

"All  things  are  possible,"  returned  the  /judge,  his  tight  old 
mouth  screwed  up  after  the  words,  as  if  more  stood  in  the 

304 


The  Shadow  of  a  Dream  305 

door  and  required  the  utmost  vigilance  to  prevent  them  pop 
ping  forth. 

Sol  admitted  that  all  things  were  indeed  possible,  although 
he  had  his  doubts  about  the  probability  of  a  great  many 
he  could  name.  But  he  was  wise  enough  to  know  that  one 
must  agree  with  a  man  if  one  desires  to  get  into  his  warm 
favor,  and  it  was  his  purpose  on  that  ride  to  milk  Judge 
Little  of  whatever  information  tickling  his  vanity*  as  an  ant 
tickles  an  aphis,  would  cause  him  to  yield. 

"Well,  he's  got  a  right  smart  property  waitin'  him  when 
he  comes,"  said  Sol,  feeling  important  and  comfortable  just 
to  talk  of  all  that  Isom  left. 

"A  considerable,"  agreed  the  judge. 

"Say  forty  or  fifty  thousand  worth,  heh?" 

"Nearer  seventy  or  eighty,  the  way  land's  advancing  in 
this  county,"  corrected  the  judge. 

Sol  whistled  his  amazement.  There  was  no  word  in  his 
vocabulary  as  eloquent  as  that. 

"  Well,  all  I  got  to  say  is  that  if  it  was  me  he  left  it  to, 
it  wouldn't  take  no  searchin'  to  find  me,"  he  said.  "  Is  he 
married?  " 

"Very  likely  he  is  married,"  said  the  judge,  with  that 
portentous  repression  and  caution  behind  his  words  which 
some  people  are  able  to  use  with  such  mysterious  effect. 

"  Shades  of  catnip  !  "  said  Sol. 

They  rode  on  a  little  way  in  silence,  Sol  being  quite  ex 
hausted  on  account  of  his  consuming  surprise  over  what  he 
believed  himself  to  be  finding  out.  Presently  he  returned  to 
his  prying,  and  asked : 

"  Can  Ollie  come  in  for  her  dower  rights  in  case  the  court 
lets  Isom's  will  stand?" 

"  That  is  a  question,"  replied  the  judge,  deliberating  at  his 
pause  and  sucking  in  his  cheeks,  "  which  will  have  to  be 
decided." 


306  TJie 


''Does  he  favor  Isom  any?"  asked  Sol. 

"Who?"  queried  the  judge. 

"  Isom's  boy." 

"There  doubtless  is  some  resemblance  —  it  is  only  natural 
that  there  should  be  a  resemblance  between  father  and  son," 
nodded  the  judge.  "But  as  for  myself,  I  cannot  sav." 

"You  ain't  seen  him,  heh?"  said  Sol,  eyeing  him  sharply. 

"Xot  exactly,"  allowed  the  judge. 

"Land  o'  Moab!"  said  Sol. 

They  rode  on  another  eighty  rods  without  a  word  between 
them. 

"(lot  his  picture,  I  reckon?"  asked  Sol  at  last,  sounding 
the  judge's  face  all  the  while  with  his  eager  eyes. 

"I  turn  off  here,"  said  the  judge.  "I'm  takin'  the  short 
cut  over  the  ford  and  through  Miller's  place.  Looks  like 
the  rain  would  thicken." 

He  gave  Sol  good  day,  and  turned  off  into  a  brush- 
grown  road  which  plunged  into  the  woods. 

Sol  went  on  his  way,  stirred  by  comfortable  emotions. 
What  a  story  he  meant  to  spread  next  day  at  the  county- 
seat  ;  what  a  piece  of  news  he  was  going  to  be  the  source  of. 
indeed  ! 

Of  course,  Sol  had  no  knowledge  of  what  was  going  forward 
at  the  county  farm  that  very  afternoon,  even  the  very  hour 
when  Joe  Xewbolt  was  sweating  blood  on  the  witness  stand. 
If  he  had  known,  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  waited 
until  morning  to  spread  the  tale  abroad. 

This  is  what  it  was. 

Ollie's  lawyer  was  there  in  consultation  with  L'ncle  John 
Owens  regarding  Isom's  will.  Consultation  is  the  word,  for 
it  had  come  to  that  felicitous  pass  between  them.  Uncle 
John  could  communicate  his  thoughts  freely  to  his  fellow- 
beings  again,  and  receive  theirs  intelligently. 

All  this  had  been  wrought  not  by  a  miracle,  but  by  the 


The  Shadow  of  a  Dream  307 

systematic  preparation  of  the  attorney,  who  was  determined 
to  sound  the  secret  which  lay  locked  in  that  silent  mind.  If 
Isom  had  a  son  when  that  will  was  made  a  generation  back, 
Uncle  John  Owens  was  the  man  who  knew  it,  and  the  only 
living  man. 

In  pursuit  of  this  mystery,  the  lawyer  had  caused  to  be 
printed  many  little  strips  of  cardboard  in  the  language  of 
the  blind.  These  covered  all  the  ground  that  he  desired  to 
explore,  from  preliminaries  to  climax,  with  every  pertinent 
question  which  his  fertile  mind  could  shape,  and  every  answer 
which  he  felt  was  due  to  Uncle  John  to  satisfV  his  curiosity 
and  inform  him  fully  of  what  had  transpired. 

The  attorney  had  been  waiting  for  Uncle  John  to  become 
proficient  enough  in  his  new  reading  to  proceed  without  diffi 
culty.  He  had  provided  the  patriarch  with  a  large  slate, 
which  gave  him  comfortable  room  for  his  big  characters. 
Several  days  before  that  which  the  lawyer  had  set  for  the 
exploration  of  the  mystery  of  Isom  Chase's  heir,  they  had 
reached  a  perfect  footing  of  understanding. 

Uncle  John  was  a  new  man.  For  several  weeks  he  had 
been  making  great  progress  with  the  New  Testament,  printed 
in  letters  for  the  blind,  which  had  come  on  the  attorney's 
order  speedily.  It  was  an  immense  volume,  as  big  as  a  barn 
door,  as  Uncle  John  facetiously  wrote  on  his  slate,  and  when 
he  read  it  he  sat  at  the  table  littered  over  with  his  interlocked 
rings  of  wood,  and  his  figures  of  beast  and  female  angels  or 
demons,  which,  not  yet  determined. 

The  sun  had  come  out  for  him  again,  at  the  clouded  end 
of  his  life.  It  reached  him  through  the  points  of  his  fingers, 
and  warmed  him  to  the  farthest  spot,  and  its  welcome  was 
the  greater  because  his  night  had  been  long  and  its  rising 
late. 

On  that  afternoon  memorable  for  Joe  Newbolt,  and  all  who 
gathered  at  the  court-house  to  hear  him,  Uncle  John  learned 


The   Bondboy 


of  the  death  of  Isom  Cliase.  The  manner  of  his  death  was 
not  revealed  to  him  in  the  printed  slips  of  board,  and  Uncle 
John  did  not  ask,  very  likely  accepting  it  as  an  event  which 
comes  to  all  men,  and  for  which  he,  himself,  had  long  been 
prepared. 

After  that  fact  had  been  imparted  to  the  blind  preacher, 
the  lawyer  placed  under  his  eager  fingers  a  slip  which  read: 

"Did  you  ever  witness  Isom  Chase's  will?" 

Uncle  John  took  his  slate  and  wrote: 

"  Yes." 

"When?" 

"Thirty  or  forty  years  ago,"  wrote  Uncle  John  —  what 
was  a  decade  more  or  less  to  him?  "When  he  joined  the 
Order." 

Uncle  John  wrote  this  with  his  face  bright  in  the  joy  of 
being  able  to  hold  intelligent  communication  once  more. 

More  questioning  brought  out  the  information  that  it  was 
a  rule  of  the  secret  brotherhood  which  Isom  had  joined  in 
those  far  days,  for  each  candidate  for  initiation  to  make  his 
will  before  the  administration  of  the  rites. 

"What  a  sturdy  old  goat  that  must  have  been!"  thought 
the  lawyer. 

"Do  you  remember  to  whom  Isom  left  his  property  in  that 
will?  "  read  the  pasteboard  under  the  old  man's  hands. 

Uncle  John  smiled,  reminisccntly,  and  nodded. 

"  To  his  son,"  he  wrote.     "  Isom  was  the  name." 

"Do  you  know  when  and  where  that  son  was  born?" 

Uncle  John's  smile  was  broader,  and  of  purely  humorous 
cast,  as  he  bent  over  the  slate  and  began  to  write  carefully, 
in  smaller  hand  than  usual,  as  if  he  had  a  great  deal  to  say. 

"  He  never  was  born,"  he  wrote,  "  not  up  to  the  time  that 
I  lost  the  world.  Isom  was  a  man  of  Belial  all  his  days  that 
I  knew  him.  lie  was  set  on  a  son  from  his  wedding  day. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  him  I  joked  him  about  that  will,  and 


The  Shadow  of  a  Dream  309 

told  him  he  would  have  to  change  it.  He  said  no,  it  would 
stand  that  way.  He  said  he  would  get  a  son  yet.  Abraham 
was  a  hundred  when  Isaac  was  born,  he  reminded  me.  Did 
Isom  get  him?" 

"  No,"  was  the  word  that  Uncle  John's  fingers  found.  He 
shook  his  head,  sadly. 

"  He  worked  and  saved  for  him  all  his  life,"  the  old  man 
wrote.  "  He  set  his  hope  of  that  son  above  the  Lord." 

Uncle  John  was  given  to  understand  the  importance  of  his 
information,  and  that  he  might  be  called  upon  to  give  it  over 
again  in  court. 

He  was  greatly  pleased  with  the  prospect  of  publicly  dis 
playing  his  new  accomplishment.  The  lawyer  gave  him  a 
printed  good-bye,  shook  him  by  the  hand  warmly,  and  left  him 
poring  over  his  ponderous  book,  his  dumb  lips  moving  as  his 
fingers  spelled  out  the  words. 

They  were  near  the  end  and  the  quieting  of  all  this  flurry 
that  had  risen  over  the  property  of  old  Isom  Chase,  said  the 
lawyer  to  himself  as  he  rode  back  to  town  to  acquaint  his 
client  with  her  good  fortune.  There  was  nothing  in  the  way 
of  her  succession  to  the  property  now.  The  probate  court 
would,  without  question  or  doubt,  throw  out  that  ridiculous 
document  through  which  old  Judge  Little  hoped  to  grease 
his  long  wallet. 

With  Isom's  will  would  disappear  from  the  public  notice 
the  one  testimony  of  his  only  tender  sentiment,  his  only  human 
softness ;  a  sentiment  and  a  softness  which  had  been  born  of 
a  desire  and  fostered  by  a  dream. 

Strange  that  the  hard  old  man  should  have  held  to  that 
dream  so  stubbornly  and  so  long,  striving  to  gain  for  it, 
hoarding  to  enrich  it,  growing  bitterer  for  its  long  coming, 
year  by  year.  And  at  last  he  had  gone  out  in  a  flash,  leaving 
this  one  speaking  piece  of  evidence  of  feeling  and  tenderness 
behind. 


310  The  Bomlboi/ 


Perhaps  Isom  Chase  would  have  been  different,  reflected  the 
lawver,  if  fate  had  yielded  him  his  desire  and  given  him  a  son  ; 
perhaps  it  would  have  softened  his  hand  and  mellowed  his 
heart  in  his  dealings  with  those  whom  he  touched;  perhaps 
it  would  have  lifted  him  above  the  narrow  strivings  which 
had  atrophied  his  virtues,  and  let  the  sunlight  into  the  dark 
places  of  his  soul. 

So  communing  with  himself,  he  arrived  in  town.  The  peo 
ple  were  coming  out  of  the  court-house,  the  lowering  gray 
clouds  were  settling  mistily.  But  it  was  a  clearing  day  for 
his  client ;  lie  hastened  on  to  tell  her  of  the  turn  fortune  had 
made  in  her  behalf. 


CHAPTER  XX 


i  •" 


THE  PENALTY  IS  DEATH  ! 

WHEN  court  convened  the  following  morning  for  the 
last  act  in  the  prolonged  drama  of  Joe  Newbolt's 
trial,  the  room  was  crowded  even  beyond  the  congestion  of  the 
previous  day. 

People  felt  that  Sam  Lucas  was  not  through  with  the 
accused  lad  yet ;  they  wanted  to  be  present  for  the  final  and 
complete  crucifixion.  It  was  generally  believed  that,  under 
the  strain  of  Lucas's  bombardment,  Joe  would  break  down 
that  da}r. 

The  interference  of  Alice  Price,  unwarranted  and  beyond 
reason,  the  public  said,  had  given  the  accused  a  respite,  but 
nothing  more.  Whatever  mistaken  notion  she  had  in  doing  it 
was  beyond  them,  for  it  was  inconceivable  that  she  could  be 
wiser  than  another,  and  discover  virtues  in  the  accused  that 
older  and  wiser  heads  had  overlooked.  Well,  after  the  rebuke 
that  Judge  Maxwell  had  given  her,  she  wouldn't  meddle 
again  soon.  It  was  more  than  anybody  expected  to  see  her 
in  court  again.  No,  indeed,  they  said;  that  would  just  about 
settle  her. 

Such  a  fine  girl,  too,  and  such  a  blow  to  her  father.  It 
was  a  piece  of  forwardness  that  went  beyond  the  imagination 
of  anybody  in  the  town.  Could  it  be  that  Alice  Price  Had 
become  tainted  with  socialism  or  woman's  rights,  or  any 
of  those  wild  theories  which  roared  around  the  wide  world 
outside  Shelbyville  and  created  such  commotion  and  unrest? 
Maybe  some  of  those  German  doctrines  had  got  into  her 
head,  such  as  that  young  Professor  Gobel,  whom  the  regents 
discharged  from  the  college  faculty  last  winter,  used  to  teach. 

311 


.312 The  Sandboy 

It  was  too  bad ;  nearly  everybody  regretted  it,  for  it  took 
a  girl  a  long  time  to  live  down  a  thing  like  that  in  Shelbyville. 
But  the  greatest  shock  and  disappointment  of  nil  was,  al 
though  nobody  would  admit  it,  that  she  had  shut  Joe's  mouth 
on  the  very  thing  that  the  public  ear  was  itching  to  hear. 
She  had  cheated  the  public  of  its  due,  and  taken  the  food 
out  of  its  mouth  when  it  was  ravenous.  That  was  past 
forgiveness. 

Dark  conjectures  were  hatched,  therefore,  and  scandalous 
hints  were  set  traveling.  Mothers  said,  well,  tliev  thanked 
their  stars  that  she  hadn't  married  their  sons  ;  and  fathers 
philosophized  that  you  never  could  tell  how  a  filly  would 
turn  out  till  you  put  the  saddle  on  her  and  tried  her  on  the 
road.  And  the  public  sighed  and  gasped  and  shook  its 
head,  and  was  comfortably  shocked  and  satisfvinglv 
scandalized. 

The  sheriff  brought  the  prisoner  into  court  that  morning 
with  free  hands.  Joe's  face  seemed  almost  beatific  in  its 
exalted  serenity  as  he  saluted  his  waiting  mother  with  a  smile. 
To  those  who  had  seen  the  gray  pallor  of  his  strained  face 
yesterday,  it  appeared  as  if  he  had  cast  his  skin  during  the 
night,  and  with  it  his  harassments  and  haunting  fears,  and 
had  come  out  this  morning  as  fresh  and  unscarrcd  as  a  child. 

Joe  stood  for  a  moment  running  his  eyes  swiftly  over  thf 
room.  When  they  found  the  face  they  sought  a  warm  light 
shot  into  them  as  if  he  had  turned  up  the  wick  of  his  soul. 
She  was  not  so  near  the  front  as  on  the  day  before,  yet  she 
was  close  enough  for  eve  to  speak  to  eye. 

People  marked  the  exchange  of  unspoken  salutations 
between  them,  and  nudged  each  other,  and  whispered:  "There 
she  is ! "  They  wondered  how  she  was  going  to  cut  up  today, 
and  whether  it  would  not  end  for  her  by  getting  herself  sent 
to  jail,  along  with  that  scatter-feathered  young  crow  whom 
she  seemed  to  have  taken  into  her  heart. 


"  The  Penalty  Is  Death! " 313 

Ollie  was  present,  although  Joe  had  not  expected  to  see 
her,  he  knew  not  why.  She  was  sitting  in  the  first  row  of 
benches,  so  near  him  he  could  have  reached  over  and  taken 
her  hand.  He  bowed  to  her;  she  gave  him  a  sickly  smile, 
which  looked  on  her  pale  face  like  a  dim  breaking  of  sun 
through  wintry  clouds. 

To  the  great  surprise  and  greater  disappointment  of  the 
public  in  attendance  upon  the  trial,  Sam  Lucas  announced, 
when  court  opened,  that  the  state  would  not  proceed  with 
the  cross-examination  of  the  defendant.  Hammer  rose  with 
that  and  stated  that  the  defense  rested.  He  had  no  more 
witnesses  to  call. 

Hammer  wore  a  hopeful  look  over  his  features  that  morn 
ing,  a  reflection,  perhaps,  of  his  client's  unworried  attitude. 
He  had  not  been  successful  in  his  attempt  to  interview  Alice 
Price,  although  he  had  visited  her  home  the  night  before. 
Colonel  Price  had  received  him  with  the  air  of  one  who 
stoops  to  contact  with  an  inferior,  and  assured  him  that  he 
was  delegated  by  Miss  Price  —  which  was  true  —  to  tell 
Mr.  Hammer  that  she  knew  nothing  favorable  to  his  client's 
cause ;  that  her  caution  in  his  moment  of  stress  had  nothing 
behind  it  but  the  unaccountable  impulse  of  a  young  and 
sympathetic  girl. 

Hammer  accepted  that  explanation  with  a  large  corner  of 
reservation  in  his  mind.  He  knew  that  she  had  visited  the 
jail,  and  it  was  his  opinion  that  his  client  had  taken  her 
behind  the  door  of  his  confidence,  which  he  had  closed  to 
his  attorney.  Alice  Price  knew  something,  she  must  know 
something,  Hammer  said.  On  that  belief  he  based  his  inten 
tion  of  a  motion  for  a  new  trial  in  case  of  conviction.  He 
would  advance  the  contention  that  new  evidence  had  been 
discovered ;  he  would  then  get  Alice  Price  into  a  corner  by 
herself  somewhere  and  make  her  tell  all  she  knew. 

That  was  why  Hammer  smiled  and  felt  quite  easy,  and 


314  The   Bondboy 


turned  over  in  his  mind  the  moving  speech  that  lie  had 
prepared  for  the  jury.  He  WHS  glad  of  the  opportunity 
which  that  great  gathering  presented.  It  was  a  plowed  field 
waiting  the  grain  of  Hammer's  future  prosperity. 

Hammer  kept  turning  his  eyes  toward  Alice  Price,  where 
she  sat  in  the  middle  of  the  court-room  beside  the  colonel. 
He  had  marked  an  air  of  uneasiness,  a  paleness  as  of 
suppressed  anxiety  in  the  girl's  face.  Now  and  then  he  saw 
her  look  toward  the  door  where  Captain  Taylor  stood  guard, 
in  his  G.  A.  11.  uniform  today,  as  if  it  were  a  gala  occasion 
and  demanded  decorations. 

For  whom  could  she  be  straining  and  watching?  Hammer 
wondered.  Ah,  no  doubt  about  it,  that  girl  knew  a  great 
deal  more  of  the  inner-working  of  his  client's  mind  than  he 
did.  But  she  couldn't  keep  her  secret.  He'd  get  it  out  of 
her  after  filing  his  motion  for  a  new  trial  —  already  he  was 
looking  ahead  to  conviction,  feeling  the  weakness  of  his  case 
—  and  very  likely  turn  the  sensation  of  a  generation  loose 
in  Shelbyville  when  he  called  her  to  the  witness-stand.  That 
was  the  manner  of  Hammer's  speculations  as  he  watched  her 
turning  her  eyes  toward  the  door. 

Ollie  sat  beside  her  mother,  strangely  downcast  for  all  the 
brightening  of  her  affairs.  Joe  had  passed  through  the  fire 
and  come  out  true,  although  he  might  have  faltered  and 
betrayed  her  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sharp  warning  of 
Alice  Price,  cast  to  him  like  a  rope  to  a  drowning  man. 
Like  Hammer,  like  a  thousand  others,  she  wondered  why 
Alice  had  uttered  that  warning.  What  did  she  know?  What 
did  she  suspect?  It  was  certain,  above  everything  else,  that 
she  knew  Joe  was  guiltless.  She  knew  that  he  was  not 
maintaining  silence  on  his  own  account. 

How  did  she  know?  Had  Joe  told  her?  Ollie  struggled 
with  the  doubt  and  perplexity  of  it,  and  the  fear  which  lay 
deep  in  her  being  made  her  long  to  cringe  there,  and  shield 


te  The  Penalty  Is  Death!  " 315 

her  face  as  from  fire.  She  could  not  do  that,  any  more  than 
she  had  succeeded  in  her  desire  to  remain  away  from  court 
that  morning.  There  was  no  need  for  her  there,  her  testi 
mony  was  in,  they  were  through  with  her.  Yet  she  could  not 
stay  away.  She  must  be  there  for  the  final  word,  for  the  last 
sight  of  Joe's  prison-white  face. 

She  must  whip  herself  to  sit  there  as  boldly  as  innocence 
and  cheat  the  public  into  accepting  the  blanched  cheek  of 
fear  for  the  wearing  strain  of  sorrow;  she  must  sit  there 
until  the  end.  Then  she  could  rise  up  and  go  her  way,  no 
matter  how  it  turned  out  for  Joe.  She  could  leave  there 
with  her  guilty  secret  in  her  heart  and  the  shame  of  her 
cowardice  burning  like  a  smothered  coal  in  her  breast. 

It  would  hurt  to  know  that  Joe  had  gone  to  prison  for 
her  sake,  even  though  he  once  had  stepped  into  the  door 
way  of  her  freedom  and  cut  off  her  light.  The  knowledge 
that  Alice  Price  loved  him,  and  that  Joe  loved  her,  for  she 
had  read  the  secret  in  their  burning  eyes,  would  make  it 
doubly  hard.  She  would  be  cheating  him  of  liberty  and 
robbing  him  of  love.  Still,  they  would  be  no  more  than  even, 
at  that,  said  she,  with  a  recurring  sweep  of  bitterness.  Had 
Joe  not  denied  them  both  to  her?  All  of  this  she  turned  in 
her  mind  as  she  sat  waiting  for  court  to  open  that  somber 
morning. 

The  rain  in  yesterday's  threat  had  come ;  it  was  streaking 
the  windows  gray,  and  the  sound  of  the  wind  was  in  the  trees, 
waving  their  bare  limbs  as  in  fantastic  grief  against  the  dull 
clouds.  There  was  no  comfort  in  youth  and  health  and 
prettiness  of  face  and  form ;  no  pride  in  possession  of  lands 
and  money,  when  a  hot  and  tortuous  thing  like  conscience 
was  lying  so  ill-concealed  behind  the  thin  wall  of  her  breast. 

She  thought  bitterly  of  Curtis  Morgan,  who  had  failed  her 
so  completely.  Never  again  in  the  march  of  her  years  would 
she  need  the  support  of  his  hand  and  comforting  affection  as 

21 


316  The  Bondboi] 


she  needed  it  then.  But  he  had  gone  away  and  forgotten, 
like  a  careless  hunter  who  leaves  his  uncovered  fire  after  him 
to  spring  in  the  wind  and  go  raging  with  destructive  curse 
through  the  forest.  lie  had  struck  the  spark  to  warm  himself 
a  night  in  its  pleasurable  glow;  the  hands  of  ten  thousand 
men  could  not  quench  its  flame  today. 

Judge  Maxwell  had  been  conferring  with  the  lawyers  in 
the  case  these  few  minutes,  setting  a  limit  to  their  periods 
of  oration  before  the  jury,  to  which  both  sides  agreed  after 
the  usual  protestations.  The  court-room  was  very  quiet  ; 
expectancy  sat  upon  the  faces  of  all  who  waited  when  Sam 
Lucas,  prosecuting  attorney,  rose  and  began  his  address  1o 
the  jury. 

He  began  by  calling  attention  to  what  he  termed  the 
"  peculiar  atrocity  of  this  crime,"  and  the  circumstances 
surrounding  it.  lie  pointed  out  that  there  could  have  been 
no  motive  of  revenge  behind  the  act,  for  the  evidence  had 
shown,  even  the  testimony  of  the  defendant  himself  had  shown, 
that  the  relations  between  Chase  and  his  bondman  were 
fricndlv.  Isom  Chase  had  been  kind  to  him;  he  had  re 
posed  his  entire  trust  in  him,  and  had  gone  away  to  serve 
his  country  as  a  juryman,  leaving  everything  in  his  hands. 

"And  he  returned  from  that  duty,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
"  to  meet  death  at  the  treacherous  hands  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  trusted,  there  upon  his  own  threshold. 

"When  Isom  Chase  was  found  there  by  his  neighbor,  Sol 
Greening,  gentlemen,  this  bag  of  money  was  clasped  to  his 
lifeless  breast.  Where  did  it  come  from?  What  was  Isom 
Chase  doing  with  it  there  at  that  hour  of  the  night?  This 
defendant  has  testified  that,  he  does  not  know.  Did  Isom 
Chase  carry  it  with  him  when  he  entered  the  house?  Not 

likely. 

"You  have  heard  the  testimony  of  the  bankers  of  this  city 
to  the  effect  that  he  carried  no  deposit  with  any  of  them. 


"  The  Penalty  Is  Death!" 317 

Isom  Chase  had  returned  to  his  home  that  fatal  night  from 

:    serving  on  a  jury  in  this  court-house.     That  duty  held  him 

there  until  past  ten  o'clock,  as  the  records  show.     Where  did 

:    that  bag  of  gold  come  from?    What  was  it  doing  there?    This 

I    defendant  has  sworn   that  he  never  saw  it  before,  that  he 

knows  nothing  at  all  about  it.     Yet  he  admits  that  '  words ' 

passed  between  him  and  Isom  Chase  that  night. 

"  What  those  words  were  he  has  locked  up  in  the  secret 
darkness  of  his  guilty  breast.  He  has  refused  to  tell  you 
i  what  they  were,  refused  against  the  kindly  counsel  of  the 
court,  the  prayers  of  his  aged  mother,  the  advice  of  his  own 
attorney,  and  of  his  best  friends.  Joe  Newbolt  has  refused 
to  repeat  those  words  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  but 
I  will  tell  you  what  the  substance  of  them  was." 

The  prosecutor  made  a  dramatic  pause ;  he  flung  his  long, 
fair  locks  back  from  his  forehead;  he  leveled  his  finger  at 
Joe  as  if  he  held  a  weapon  aimed  to  shoot  him  through  the 
heart. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  looked  at  the  prosecutor  searchingly.     She 

could  not  understand  why  the  judge  allowed  him  to  say  a 

thing  like  that.     Joe  displayed  no  indication  of  the  turmoil 

r  of  his  heart.     But  the  light  was  fading  out  of  his  face,  the 

gray  mist  of  pain  was  sweeping  over  it  again. 

"  Those  words,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  resumed  the  prose- 
i  cutor,  "  were  words  of  accusation  from  the  lips  of  Isom  Chase 
.'  when  he  entered  that  door  and  saw  this  man,  his  trusted 
j  servant,  making  away  with  that  bag  of  money,  the  hoarded 
i  savings  of  Isom  Chase  through  many  an  industrious 
year. 

"I  tell  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  that  this  defendant, 
afraid  of  the  consequences  of  his  act  when  he  found  himself 
discovered  in  the  theft,  and  was  compelled  to  surrender  the 
money  to  its  lawful  owner  —  I  tell  you  then,  in  that  evil 
moment  of  passion  and  disappointment,  this  defendant 


318  The  Bondboy 


snatclicd  that  rifle  from  the  wall  and  shot  honest,  hard 
working  old  Isom  Chase  down  like  a  dog ! " 

"No,  no!"  cried  Mrs.  Ncwbolt,  casting  out  her  hands  in 
passionate  denial.  "  Joe  didn't  do  it !  " 

"  Your  honor,"  began  the  prosecutor,  turning  to  the  court 
with  an  expression  of  injury  in  his  voice  which  was  almost 
tearful,  "am  I  to  be  interrupted  — 

"  Madam,  you  must  not  speak  again,"  admonished  the 
judge.  "Mr.  Sheriff,  see  that  the  order  is  obeyed." 

The  sheriff  leaned  over. 

"  Ma'am,  I'll  have  to  put  you  out  of  here  if  you  do  that 
agin,"  said  he. 

Joe  placed  his  hand  on  his  mother's  shoulder  and  whis 
pered  to  her.  She  nodded,  as  if  in  obedience  to  his  wish,  but 
she  sat  straight  and  alert,  her  dark  eyes  glowing  with  anger 
as  she  looked  at  the  prosecutor. 

The  prosecutor  was  composing  himself  to  proceed. 

"  This  defendant  had  robbed  old  Isom  Chase  of  his  hoarded 
gold,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  that  was  not  all.  I  tell  you, 
gentlemen,  Joe  Xcwbolt  had  robbed  that  trusting  old  man  of 
more  than  his  gold.  He  had  robbed  him  of  his  sacred 
honor ! " 

Hammer  entered  vociferous  objections.  Nothing  to  main 
tain  this  charge  had  been  proved  by  the  state,  said  he.  He 
insisted  that  the  jury  be  instructed  to  disregard  what  had 
been  said,  and  the  prosecutor  admonished  by  the  court  to 
confine  himself  to  the  evidence. 

The  court  ruled  accordingly. 

"  There  has  been  ample  evidence  on  this  point,"  contended 
the  prosecutor.  "The  conspiracy  of  silence  entered  into 
between  this  defendant  and  the  widow  of  Isom  Chase  — 
entered  into  and  maintained  throughout  this  trial  —  is  suffi 
cient  to  brand  them  guilty  of  this  charge  before  the  world. 
More ;  when  Sol  Greening's  wife  arrived  a  few  minutes  after 


re  The  Penalty  Is  Death!  " 319 

the  shooting,  Mrs.  Chase  was  fully  dressed,  in  a  dress,  gentle 
men  of  the  jury,  that  it  would  have  taken  her  longer  to 
put  on — 

Merely  surmises,  said  Hammer.  If  surmises  were  to  be 
admitted  before  that  court  and  that  jury,  said  he,  he  could 
surmise  his  client  out  of  there  in  two  minutes.  But  the  court 
was  of  the  opinion  that  the  evidence  warranted  the  prosecutor 
there.  He  was  allowed  to  proceed. 

"  Ollie  Chase  could  not  have  dressed  herself  that  way  in 
those  few  intervening  minutes.  She  had  made  her  prepara 
tions  long  before  that  tragic  hour  ;  she  was  ready  and  waiting 
—  waiting  for  what? 

"  Gentlemen,  I  will  tell  you.  Joe  Newbolt  had  discovered 
the  hiding-place  of  his  employer's  money.  He  had  stolen  it, 
and  was  preparing  to  depart  in  secrecy  in  the  dead  of  night ; 
and  I  tell  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  he  was  not  going 
alone!" 

"  Oh,  what  a  scandalous  lie ! "  said  Mrs.  Newbolt  in  a 
horrified  voice  which,  low-pitched  and  groaning  that  it  was, 
carried  to  the  farthest  corner  of  that  big,  solemn  room. 

The  outburst  caused  a  little  movement  in  the  room,  attend 
ed  by  considerable  noise  and  some  shifting  of  feet.  Some 
laughed,  for  there  are  some  to  laugh  everywhere  at  the  most 
sincere  emotions  of  the  human  breast.  The  judge  rapped  for 
order.  A  flush  of  anger  mounted  to  his  usually  passive  face ; 
he  turned  to  the  sheriff  with  a  gesture  of  command. 

"  Remove  that  woman  from  the  room,  Mr.  Sheriff,  and 
retain  her  in  custody ! "  said  he. 

The  sheriff  came  forward  hastily  and  took  Mrs.  Newbolt 
by  the  arm.  She  stood  at  his  touch  and  stretched  out  her 
hands  to  the  judge. 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  say  it  out  loud,  Judge  Maxwell,  but  I 
thought  it  so  hard,  I  reckon,  sir,  that  it  got  away.  Anybody 
that  knows  my  Joe  — 


320  The  Bondboy 


"  Come  on,  ma'am,"  the  sheriff  ordered. 

Joe  was  on  his  feet.  The  sheriff's  special  deputy  put  his 
hands  on  the  prisoner's  shoulders  and  tried  to  force  him 
down  into  his  scat.  The  deputy  was  a  little  man,  sandy, 
freckled,  and  frail,  and  his  efforts,  ludicrously  eager,  threw 
the  court-room  into  a  fit  of  unseemly  laughter.  The  little 
man  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  bend  one  of  the  oak 
columns  which  supported  the  court-house  portico. 

Judge  Maxwell  was  properly  angry  now.  He  rapped 
loudly,  and  threatened  penalties  for  contempt.  When  the 
mirth  quieted,  which  it  did  with  a  suddenness  almost  tragic, 
Joe  spoke.  "  I  wish  to  apologize  to  you  for  mother's  words, 
sir,"  said  he,  addressing  the  judge,  inclining  his  head  slight!  v 
to  the  prosecuting  attorney  afterward,  as  if  to  include  him, 
upon  second  thought.  "  She  was  moved  out  of  her  calm  and 
dignity  by  the  statement  of  Mr.  Lucas,  sir,  and  I  give  you 
my  word  of  honor  that  she'll  say  no  more.  I'd  like  to  have 
her  here  by  me,  sir,  if  you'd  grant  me  that  favor.  You  can 
understand,  sir,  that  a  man  needs  a  friend  at  his  side  in  an 
hour  like  this." 

Judge  Maxwell's  face  was  losing  its  redness  of  wrath ;  the 
hard  lines  were  melting  out  of  it.  lie  pondered  a  moment, 
looking  witli  gathered  brows  at  Joe.  The  little  deputy  had 
given  over  his  struggle,  and  now  stood  with  one  hand  twisted 
in  the  back  of  Joe's  coat.  The  sheriff  kept  his  hold  on  Mrs. 
Newbolt's  arm.  She  lifted  her  contrite  face  to  the  judge, 
tears  in  her  eyes. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  judge,  "the  court  will  accept  your 
apology,  and  hold  YOU  responsible  for  her  future  behavior. 
Madam,  resume  your  seat,  and  do  not  interrupt  the 
prosecuting  attorney  again." 

Mrs.  Xcwbolt  justified  Joe's  plea  by  sitting  quietly  while 
the  prosecutor  continued.  But  her  interruption  had  acted 
like  an  explosion  in  the  train  of  his  ideas;  he  was  so  much 


"  The  Penalty  Is  Death!  " 321 

disconcerted  by  it  that  he  finished  rather  tamely,  reserv 
ing  his  force,  as  people  understood,  for  his  closing 
speech. 

Hammer  rose  in  consequence,  and  plunged  into  the  effort 
of  his  life.  He  painted  the  character  of  Isom  Chase  in 
horrible  guise ;  he  pointed  out  his  narrowness,  his  wickedness, 
his  cruelty,  his  quickness  to  lift  his  hand.  He  wept  and 
he  sobbed,  and  splashed  tears  all  around  him. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  satisfying  pieces  of  public  oratory 
ever  heard  in  Shelbyville,  from  the  standpoint  of  sentiment, 
and  the  view  of  the  unschooled.  But  as  a  legal  and  logical 
argument  it  was  as  foolish  and  futile  as  Hammer's  own  fat 
tears.  He  kept  it  up  for  an  hour,  and  he  might  have  gone  on 
for  another  if  his  tears  had  not  given  out.  Without  tears, 
Hammer's  eloquence  dwindled  and  his  oratory  dried. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  blessed  him  in  her  heart,  and  the  irrespon 
sible  and  vacillating  public  wiped  its  cheeks  clean  of  its  tears 
and  settled  down  to  have  its  emotions  warped  the  other  way. 
Everybody  said  that  Hammer  had  done  well.  He  had  made 
a  fine  effort,  it  showed  what  they  had  contended  for  all 
along,  that  Hammer  had  it  naturally  in  him,  and  was  bound 
to  land  in  congress  yet. 

When  the  prosecutor  resumed  for  the  last  word  he  seemed 
to  be  in  a  vicious  temper.  He  seemed  to  be  prompted  by 
motives  of  revenge,  rather  than  justice.  If  he  had  been  a 
near  relative  of  the  deceased,  under  the  obligation  of  exact 
ing  life  for  life  Avith  his  own  hands,  he  could  not  have  shown 
more  vindictive  personal  resentment  against  the  accused.  He 
reverted  to  Joe's  reservation  in  his  testimony. 

"  There  is  no  question  in  my  mind,  gentlemen  of  the  jury," 
said  he,  "  that  the  silence  behind  which  this  defendant  hides 
is  the  silence  of  guilt,  and  that  silence  brands  him  blacker 
than  any  confession  that  his  tongue  could  make. 

" '  Words  passed  between  us,'  and  '  it  was  between  him  and 


322  The  Bondboy 


me.'  That,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  is  the  explanation  this 
defendant  gives,  the  only,  the  weak,  the  obviously  dishonest 
explanation,  that  he  ever  has  offered,  or  that  the  kindly  ad 
monishment  of  this  court  could  draw  from  his  lips.  Guilt 
sits  on  his  face;  every  line  of  his  base  countenance  is  a 
confession;  every  brutal  snarl  from  his  reluctant  tongue  is 
testimony  of  his  evil  heart.  He  was  a  thief,  and,  when  he 
was  caught,  he  murdered.  'Out  of  his  own  mouth  he  has 
uttered  his  condemnation,'  and  there  is  but  one  penalty 
fitting  this  hideous  crime  —  the  penalty  of  death! 

"  Never  before  has  the  fair  name  of  our  county  been 
stained  by  such  an  atrocious  crime ;  never  before  has  there 
been  such  a  conspiracy  between  the  guilty  to  defeat  the  ends 
of  justice  in  this  moral  and  respected  community.  I  call 
upon  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  for  the  safety  of  our 
households  and  the  sanctity  of  our  hearths,  to  bring  in  your 
verdict  of  guilty  under  the  indictment. 

"  It  is  a  solemn  and  awful  thing  to  stand  here  in  the 
presence  of  the  Almighty  and  ask  the  life  of  one  of  his  crea 
tures,  made  bv  Him  in  His  own  image  and  endowed  by  Him 
with  reason  and  superiority  above  all  else  that  moves  on  the 
earth  or  in  the  waters  under  it.  But  this  man,  Joe  Newbolt, 
has  debased  that  image  and  abused  that  reason  and  super 
iority  which  raises  him  above  the  beasts  of  the  field.  He  has 
murdered  a  defenseless  old  man  ;  he  has,  by  that  act  and  deed, 
forfeited  his  right  to  life  and  liberty  under  the  law." 

The  prosecutor  made  one  of  his  effective  pauses.  There 
was  the  stillness  of  midnight  in  the  crowded  court-room.  The 
sound  of  dashing  rain  was  loud  on  the  window-panes,  the 
hoarse  voice  of  the  gray  old  elm  which  combed  the  wind  with 
its  high-flung  branches,  was  like  the  distant  groan  of  the  sea. 

In  that  aching  silence  Ollie  Chase  turned  suddenly,  as  if 
she  had  heard  someone  call  her  name.  She  started,  her 
white  face  grew  whiter.  But  nobody  seemed  conscious  of  her 


"  The  Penalty  Is  Death!" 323 

presence,  except  the  prosecutor,  who  wheeled  upon  her  and 
leveled  his  accusing  finger  at  her  where  she  sat. 

There  was  the  bearing  of  sudden  and  reckless  impulse  in 
his  act.  He  surely  had  not  meditated  that  bold  challenge  of 
one  who  had  passed  under  his  merciless  hand,  and  was 
now,  according  to  all  accepted  procedure,  beyond  his  reach 
and  his  concern.  But  Sam  Lucas  did  that  unusual  thing. 
He  stood  pointing  at  her,  his  jaw  trembling  as  if  the  intensity 
of  his  passion  had  palsied  his  tongue. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  what  part  this  woman  played  in 
that  dark  night's  work  the  world  may  never  know,"  said  he. 
"But  the  world  is  not  blind,  and  its  judgments  are  usually 
justified  by  time.  This  woman,  Ollie  Chase,  and  this  defend 
ant  have  conspired  to  hold  silence  between  them,  in  what 
hope,  to  what  unholy  end,  God  alone  knows.  But  who  will 
believe  the  weak  and  improbable  story  this  woman  has  told 
on  the  witness-stand?  Who  is  so  blind  that  he  cannot  see  the 
stain  of  her  infidelity  and  the  ghastly  blight  of  that  midnight 
shadow  upon  her  quaking  soul  ?  " 

He  turned  from  her  abruptly.  Hammer  partly  rose,  as 
if  to  enter  an  objection.  He  seemed  to  reconsider  it,  and 
sat  down.  Ollie  shrank  against  her  mother's  shoulders, 
trembling.  The  older  woman,  fierce  as  a  dragon  in  the 
sudden  focus  of  the  crowd's  attention  and  eyes,  fixed  in  one 
shifting  sweep  from  the  prosecuting  attorney  to  her  daughter, 
put  her  arm  about  Ollie  and  comforted  her  with  whispered 
words. 

The  prosecutor  proceeded,  solemnly : 

"  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  that  these  two  people,  Ollie  Chase 
and  Joseph  Newbolt,  alone  in  that  house  that  night,  alone 
in  that  house  for  two  days  before  this  tragedy  darkened 
it,  before  the  blood  of  gray  old  Isom  Chase  ran  down  upon 
its  threshold,  these  two  conspired  in  their  guilt  to  hide  the 
truth. 


324  The  Bondboy 


"  If  this  woman  would  open  her  lips,  if  this  woman  would 
break  the  seal  of  this  guilty  compact  and  speak,  the  mystery 
of  this  case  would  dissolve,  and  the  heroic  romance  which 
this  defendant  is  trying  to  put  over  the  squalid  facts  of  his 
guilt  would  turn  out  only  a  sordid  story  of  midnight  lust 
and  robbery.  If  conscience  would  trouble  this  woman  to 
speak,  gentlemen  of  the  jury  —  but  she  has  no  conscience,  and 
she  has  no  heart ! ' 

He  turned  again  to  Ollie,  savagely ;  her  mother  covered 
her  with  her  arm,  as  if  to  protect  her  from  a  blow. 

"  There  she  cowers  in  her  guilty  silence,  in  what  hope  God 
alone  knows,  but  if  she  would  speak " 

"  I  will  speak!  "  Ollie  cried. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OLLIE    SPEAKS 

OLLIE'S  voice,  low  and  steady  in  earnest  determination, 
broke  Jie  current  of  his  denunciation  as  a  knife  severs 
a  straining  cord.  The  suddenness  of  her  declaration  almost 
made  the  prosecutor  reel.  She  was  sitting  up,  straight  and 
outwardly  calm,  pushing  her  cloak  and  other  detached 
belongings  away  from  her  with  an  unconscious  movement  of 
disencumbering  herself  for  some  desperate  leap. 

"I'll  tell  everything  —  if  you'll  let  me  —  now,"  said  she, 
rising  to  her  feet. 

She  was  white  and  cold,  but  steady,  and  sternly  resolute. 
The  prosecutor  had  not  expected  that ;  his  challenge  had 
been  only  a  spectacular  play  for  effect.  Her  offer  to  speak 
left  him  mentally  groping  behind  himself  for  a  support. 
It  would  have  been  different  if  he  had  been  certain  of  what 
she  desired  to  say.  As  she  stood  before  him  there,  bloodless, 
and  in  such  calm  of  outward  aspect  that  it  was  almost 
hysterical,  he  did  not  know  whether  she  was  friend  or  foe. 

Joe  had  not  expected  it ;  the  hundreds  of  spectators  had 
not  looked  for  that,  and  Hammer  was  as  much  surprised  as 
a  ponderous,  barber-minded  man  could  be.  Yet  he  was  the 
first,  of  all  of  them  there,  to  get  his  wits  in  hand.  The 
prosecutor  had  challenged  her,  and,  he  argued,  what  she  had 
to  say  must  be  in  justification  of  both  herself  and  Joe.  He 
stood  up  quickly,  and  demanded  that  Ollie  Chase  be  put 
under  oath  and  brought  to  the  witness-stand. 

Ollie's  mother  had  hold  of  her  hand,  looking  up  into  her 
face  in  great  consternation,  begging  her  to  sit  down  and  keep 
still.  In  general,  people  were  standing,  and  Uncle  Posen 

325 


326  The   Bondboy 


Spratt  was  worming  the  big  end  of  his  steer-horn  trumpet 
between  shoulders  of  men  and  headgear  of  women  to  hear 
what  he  could  not  see. 

Judge  Maxwell  commanded  order.     The  prosecuting  attor 
ney  began  to  protest  against  the  fulfilment  of    the  very  tiling 
that,  with  so  much  feeling  and  earnestness,  lie  had  demanded 
but  a  minute  before. 

"  Considering  this  late  hour  in  the  proceedings,  your 
honor—  "  he  began. 

Judge  Maxwell  silenced  him  with  a  stern  and  reproving 
look. 

"It  is  never  too  late  for  justice,  Mr.  Prosecutor,"  said  he. 
"  Let  that  woman  come  forward  and  be  sworn." 

Hammer  went  eagerly  to  the  assistance  of  Ollie,  opening 
the  little  gate  in  the  railing  for  her  officiously,  putting  his 
palm  under  her  elbow  in  his  sustaining  fashion.  The  clerk 
administered  the  oath ;  Ollie  dropped  her  hand  wearily  at  her 
side. 

"  I  lied  the  other  day,"  said  she,  as  one  surrendering  at 
the  end  of  a  hopeless  defense,  "  and  I'm  tired  of  hiding  the 
truth  any  more." 

Joe  Newbolt  was  moved  by  a  strange  feeling  of  mingled 
thankfulness  and  regret.  Tears  had  started  to  his  eyes,  and 
were  coursing  down  his  face,  unheeded  and  unchecked.  The 
torture  of  the  past  days  and  weeks,  the  challenge  of  his 
honor,  the  doubt  of  his  sincerity;  the  rough  assaults  of  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  the  palpable  infriendliness  of  the  peo 
ple —  none  of  these  things  ever  had  drawn  from  him  a  tear. 
But  this  simple  act  of  justice  on  the  part  of  Ollie  Chase 
moved  the  deep  waters  of  his  soul. 

His  mother  had  taken  his  hand  between  her  rough  palms, 
and  was  chafing  it,  as  if  to  call  back  its  warmth  and  life.  She 
was  not  looking  at  her  son,  for  her  faith  had  not  departed 
from  him  for  one  moment,  and  would  not  have  diminished 


Ollie  Speaks  327 


if  they  had  condemned  him  under  the  accusation.  Her  eyes 
were  on  Ollie's  face,  her  lips  were  murmuring  beneath  her 
breath : 

"Thank  the  Lord  for  His  justice  and  mercy!  Thank  the 
Lord,  thank  the  Lord!" 

Ollie  had  settled  in  the  witness-chair  again,  in  the  midst  of 
her  wide-skirted  mourning  habit,  as  on  that  other  day.  Joe 
Newbolt  prayed  in  his  heart  for  the  mitigation  of  public 
censure,  and  for  strength  to  sustain  her  in  her  hour  of 
sacrifice. 

That  Ollie  had  come  forward  to  save  him  —  unasked, 
unexpected  —  was  like  the  comfort  of  a  cloak  against  the 
wintry  wind.  The  public  believed  that  she  was  going  to  "  own 
up  "  to  it  now,  and  to  clinch  the  case  against  Joe.  Some  of 
them  began  to  make  mental  calculations  on  the  capacity  of 
the  jail  yard,  and  to  lay  plans  for  securing  passes  to  the 
hanging. 

Hammer  stepped  forward  to  question  the  witness,  and  the 
prosecuting  attorney  sat  down,  alert  and  ready  to  interpose 
in  case  things  should  start  the  wrong  way.  He  had  lost 
sight  of  justice  completely,  after  the  fixed  habit  of  his  kind, 
in  his  eagerness  to  advance  his  own  prospects  by  securing 
the  conviction  of  the  accused. 

Ollie  sat  facing  Judge  Maxwell,  who  had  turned  in  his 
swivel-chair ;  moved  out  of  his  bearing  of  studious  concen 
tration,  which  was  his  usual  characteristic  on  the  bench. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Chase,  tell  your  story  in  your  own  way,  and 
take  your  own  time  for  it,"  said  Hammer,  kindly  patronizing. 

"  I  don't  want  Joe  to  suffer  for  me,"  she  said,  letting  her 
sad  eyes  rest  on  him  for  a  moment.  "What  he  kept  back 
wasn't  for  his  own  sake.  It  was  for  mine." 

"  Yes ;  go  on,  Mrs.  Chase,"  said  Hammer  as  she  hesitated 
there. 

"  Joe  didn't  shoot  Isom.     That  happened  just  the  way  he's 


328 The  Bomlboy 

said.  I  know  all  about  it,  for  I  was  there.  Joe  didn't  know 
anything  about  that  money.  I'll  tell  you  about  that,  too.'' 

'"Now,  your  honor,"  began  the  prosecutor  complainingly, 
"it  seems  to  me  that  the  time  and  place  for  evidence  of  this 
nature  has  gone  by.  This  witness  has  testified  already,  and 
to  an  entirely  different  set  of  facts.  I  don't  know  what  influ 
ences  have  been  at  work  to  induce  her  to  frame  up  a  new 
story,  but  - 

"  Your  zeal  is  commendable,  Mr.  Prosecutor,"  said  the 
judge,  "but  it  must  not  be  allowed  to  obscure  the  human 
rights  at  hazard  in  this  case.  Let  the  witness  proceed." 

Ollie  shuddered  like  one  entering  cold  water  as  she  let  her 
eyes  take  a  flight  out  over  the  crowd.  Perhaps  she  saw 
something  in  it  that  appalled  her,  or  perhaps  she  realized  only 
then  that  she  was  about  to  expose  the  nakedness  of  her  soul 
before  the  world. 

"Go  ahead,  Mrs.  Chase,"  prompted  Hammer.  "You  say 
you  know  about  that  sack  of  money?" 

"  I  was  taking  it  away  with  me,"  said  she,  drawing  a  long 
breath  and  expelling  it  witli  an  audible  sigh. 

She  seemed  very  tired,  and  she  looked  most  hopeless,  piti 
able,  and  forlorn  ;  still  there  was  no  wavering  from  the  task 
that  she  had  set  for  herself,  no  shrinking  from  its  pain. 
"  I  was  going  to  meet  Curtis  Morgan,  the  book-agent  man 
that  vou've  asked  me  about  before.  We  intended  to  run  off 
to  the  city  together.  Joe  knew  about  it;  he  stopped  me 
that  night." 

She  paused  again,  picking  at  her  fingers  nervously. 

"You  say  that  Joe  stopped  you—  "  Hammer  began.  She 
cut  him  off,  taking  up  her  suspended  narrative  without  spirit, 
as  one  resumes  a  burden. 

"Yes,  but  let  me  tell  you  first."  She  looked  frankly  into 
Judge  Maxwell's  eyes. 

"Address    the  jury,   Mrs.    Chase,"   admonished   Hammer. 


Ollie  Speaks  329 


She  turned  and  looked  steadily  into  the  foreman's  bearded 
face. 

"  There  never  was  a  thing  out  of  the  way  between  me  and 
Joe.  Joe  never  made  love  to  me ;  he  never  kissed  me,  he 
never  seemed  to  want  to.  When  Curtis  Morgan  came  to 
board  with  us  I  was  about  ready  to  die,  I  was  so  tired  and 
lonesome  and  starved  for  a  kind  word. 

"  Isom  was  a  hard  man  —  harder  than  anybody  knows  that 
never  worked  for  him.  He  worked  me  like  I  was  only  a  plow 
or  a  hoe,  without  any  feeling  or  any  heart.  Morgan  and  me 
—  Mr.  Morgan,  he  —  well,  we  fell  in  love.  We  didn't  act 
right,  and  Joe  found  it  out.  That  was  the  day  that  Mr. 
Morgan  and  I  planned  to  run  away  together.  He  was  coming 
back  for  me  that  night." 

"  You  say  that  you  and  Morgan  didn't  act  right,"  said 
Hammer,  not  satisfied  with  a  statement  that  might  leave  the 
jurymen  the  labor  of  conjecture.  "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that 
there  were  improper  relations  between  you?  that  you  were, 
in  a  word,  unfaithful  to  your  husband,  Isom  Chase?" 

Ollie's  pale  face  grew  scarlet ;  she  hung  her  head. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  in  voice  shamed  and  low. 

Her  mother,  shocked  and  astounded  by  this  public  revela 
tion,  sat  as  if  crouching  in  the  place  where  Ollie  had  left 
her.  Judge  Maxwell  nodded  encouragingly  to  the  woman  who 
was  making  her  open  confession. 

"  Go  on,"  said  he. 

His  C3'es  shifted  from  her  to  Joe  Newbolt,  who  was  looking 
at  Ollie  with  every  evidence  of  acute  suffering  and.  sympathy 
in  his  face.  The  judge  studied  him  intently;  Joe,  his  atten 
tion  centered  on  Ollie,  was  insensible  to  the  scrutiny. 

Ollie  told  how  she  and  Morgan  had  made  their  plans  in  the 
orchard  that  afternoon,  and  how  she  had  gone  to  the  house 
and  prepared  to  carry  out  the  compact  that  night,  not 
knowing  that  Joe  had  overheard  them  and  sent  Morgan 


.3,30  The  Bondboy 


away.  She  had  a  most  attentive  and  appreciative  audience. 
She  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  her  face  turned  toward  the  jury, 
according  to  Hammer's  directions.  lie  could  not  afford  to 
have  them  lose  one  word  of  that  belated  evidence. 

"I  knew  where  Isom  hid  his  money,"  said  she,  "and  that 
night  when  I  thought  Joe  was  asleep  I  took  up  the  loose 
hoard  in  the  closet  of  the  room  where  Isom  and  I  slept  and 
took  out  that  little  sack.  There  was  another  one  like  it, 
but  I  only  took  my  share.  I'd  worked  for  it,  and  starved 
and  suffered,  and  it  was  mine.  I  didn't  consider  that  I  was 
robbing  him." 

"  You  were  not,"  Hammer  assured  her.  "  A  wife  cannot 
rob  her  husband,  Mrs.  Chase.  And  then  what  did  you  do?'' 

"  I  went  downstairs  with  that  money  in  my  hand  and  laid 
it  on  the  kitchen  table  while  I  h'xcd  my  hat.  It  was  dark 
in  the  kitchen,  and  when  I  was  ready  to  go  to  meet  Mr. 
Morgan  in  the  place  agreed  on  between  us,  I  struck  a  match 
to  find  my  way  to  the  door  without  bumpin'  into  a  chair  or 
something  and  making  a  noise  that  would  wake  up  Joe. 

"  I  didn't  know  he  was  already  up  and  watching  for  me 
to  start.  He  was  at  the  door  when  I  opened  it,  and  he  told 
me  to  light  the  lamp.  I  wouldn't  do  it.  I  didn't  want  him  to 
see  me  all  dressed  and  ready  to  leave,  and  I  wanted  to  trv 
to  slip  that  sack  of  money  off  the  table  before  he  saw  it,  too. 
He  came  in;  I  guess  he  put  his  hat  down  on  the  table  in  the 
dark,  and  it  fell  on  to})  of  the  sack. 

"When  he  lit  the  lamp  in  a  minute  you  couldn't  have  told 
there  was  anything  under  the  hat  unless  you  stood  in  a  certain 
place,  where  it  showed  a  little  under  the  brim.  Joe  told  me  he 
knew  all  about  Morgan  and  me,  and  that  he'd  sent  him  away. 
He  said  it  was  wrong  for  me  to  leave  Isom;  he  said  that 
Isom  was  better  than  Morgan,  bad  as  he  was. 

"  I  flared  up  and  got  mad  at  Joe,  but  he  was  gentle  and 
kind,  and  talked  to  me  and  showed  me  where  I  was  wrong. 


Ollie  Speaks  331 


I'd  kind  of  tried  to  make  love  to  Joe  a  little  before  that," 
she  confessed,  her  face  flushing  hotly  again, m "  before  Mr. 
Morgan  came,  that  was.  I'll  tell  you  this  so  you'll  know 
that  there  was  nothing  out  of  the  way  between  me  and  Joe. 

"  Joe  didn't  seem  to  understand  such  things.  He  was 
nothing  but  a  boy  till  the  night  Isom  was  killed.  He  didn't 
take  me  up  on  it  like  Morgan  did.  I  know  it  was  wrong  in 
me ;  but  Isom  drove  me  to  it,  and  I've  suffered  for  it  —  more 
than  I  can  ever  make  you  understand." 

She  appealed  to  the  judge  in  her  manner  of  saying  that; 
appealed  as  for  the  absolution  which  she  had  earned  by  a 
cruel  penance.  He  nodded  kindly,  his  face  very  grave. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Chase,"  said  Hammer.  "  And  then  what  did 
you  do  next?" 

"Well,  while  Joe  was  persuading  me  to  go  back  to  bed  I 
put  my  arms  around  his  neck.  I  wanted  to  smooth  it  over 
with  him,  so  he'd  go  to  bed  first  and  I  could  take  the  money 
and  put  it  back,  for  one  thing ;  and  because  I  really  was 
sorr3T  for  what  I'd  done,  and  was  ashamed,  of  it,  and  felt 
lonesome  and  kicked  out,  and  like  nobody  didn't  care. 

"  Isom  came  in  and  saw  us  standing  there  that  way,  with 
my  hands  on  Joe's  shoulders,  and  he  rushed  up  and  said: 
*  I'll  kill  you!'  He  said  we  was  standing  there  hugging  each 
other,  and  that  we'd  disgraced  him ;  but  that  wasn't  so.  It 
was  all  my  fault,  but  Joe  didn't  tell  him  that." 

"And  what  did  Joe  tell  him,  Mrs.  Chase?  "  asked  Hammer, 
aglow  with  the  victory  which  he  felt  to  be  already  in  his 
hand.  He  looked  with  gloating  triumph  at  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  who  sat  at  the  table  twirling  a  pencil  in  his  fingers, 
and  did  not  lift  his  eyes. 

"  Joe  told  Isom  he  was  making  a  mistake,  and  then  Isom 
ripped  and  swore  and  threatened  to  kill  us  both.  He  looked 
around  for  something  to  do  it  with,  and  he  saw  that  sack  of 
money  under  Joe's  hat.  He  jumped  for  the  table  and 


3,32  The   llondboi/ 


grabbed  it,  and  then  he  made  for  the  gun.  I  told  Joe  to 
stop  him,  and  Joe  tried.  But  he  was  too  late.  The  rest  of 
it  happened  just  like  Joe's  already  told  you." 

Ollic's  head  drooped  forward  wearily,  and  her  hands  lay 
passively  in  her  lap.  It  seemed  that  she  considered  the  story 
concluded,  but  Hammer  was  not  of  that  mind. 

"After  Isom  fell- — after  the  gun  went  off  and  Isoni  fell  — 
what  did  you  and  Joe  do?  "  lie  asked. 

"  \Ve  heard  somebody  coming  in  a  minute.  We  didn't 
know  who  it  could  be,  but  I  was  afraid.  I  knew  if  it  got  out 
on  me  about  my  start  to  run  oil  with  Morgan,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it,  I'd  be  ruined  and  disgraced  forever. 

''Joe  knew  it  too,  better  than  I  did.  I  didn't  have  to  tell 
him,  and  I  never  even  hinted  for  him  to  do  what  he  did. 
I  never  even  thought  of  that.  I  asked  him  what  we'd  do, 
and  he  told  me  to  go  upstairs  and  leave  him  to  do  the  talking. 
I  went.  I  was  coward  enough  to  go  and  leave  him  to  bear  the 
blame.  When  Joe  lied  at  the  inquest  to  save  me,  I  backed  him 
up  in  it,  and  I  stuck  to  it  up  till  now.  Maybe  I  was  a  little 
mad  at  him  for  coming  between  me  and  Mr.  Morgan,  but 
that  was  just  a  streak.  That's  the  only  lie  Joe's  told,  and 
you  can  see  he  never  would  have  told  that  to  save  himself. 
I  don't  want  to  see  him  suffer  any  more  for  me." 

Ollie  concluded  her  recital  in  the  same  low,  dragging  and 
spiritless  voice  in  which  she  had  begun  it.  Conscience  whipped 
her  through,  but  it  could  not  make  her  unafraid.  Hammer 
turned  to  the  prosecutor  with  questioning  eyes.  Lucas  An 
nounced  that  he  did  not  desire  to  cross-examine  the  witness, 
and  the  judge  dismissed  her. 

Ollie  went  back  to  her  mother.  Xo  demonstration  accom 
panied  her  passing,  but  a  great  sigh  sounded  over  the  room 
as  the  tenseness  of  the  listening  strain  relaxed,  and  the  fulness 
of  satisfaction  came  in  its  place. 

Mrs.  Xewbolt  still  cluncr  to  her  son's  hand.      She  nodded 


Ollic  Speaks 333 

at  the  prosecuting  attorney  with  glowing  eyes,  as  if  glorying 
over  him  in  the  moment  of  his  defeat.  Alice  Price  smiled 
joyously,  and  leaned  back  from  her  posture  of  concentration. 
The  colonel  whispered  to  her,  bringing  the  palms  of  his 
hands  together  in  silent  but  expressive  applause.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  stood. 

"  Your  honor  —  '  he  began,  but  Judge  Maxwell,  lifting 
his  head  from  the  reflecting  pose  into  which  he  had  fallen 
when  Ollie  left  the  stand,  silenced  him  with  an  impatient 
gesture. 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Prosecutor,"  said  he. 

The  prosecutor  flushed,  and  sat  down  in  ruffled  dignity. 

"  I  merely  wanted  to  make  a  motion  for  dismissal,"  said  he, 
sarcastically,  as  if  it  was  only  the  merest  incidental  in  the 
day's  proceedings. 

"That  is  not  the  procedure,"  said  the  judge.  "The  state 
owes  it  to  this  defendant  to  absolve  him  before  the  public 
of  the  obloquy  of  this  unfounded  and  cruel  accusation." 

"  Vindication  is  what  we  demand,  your  honor,"  said  Ham 
mer  grandly ;  "  vindication  before  the  world !  " 

He  spread  his  arms  wide,  as  if  the  world  stood  before  him, 
fat  and  big  of  girth  like  himself,  and  he  meant  to  embrace 
it  with  the  next  breath. 

"You  shall  have  it,  Mr.  Hammer,"  said  the  judge.  He 
turned  to  the  jury.  "Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  this  case  has 
come  to  a  sudden  and  unexpected  end.  The  state's  case, 
prosecuted  with  such  worthy  energy  and  honorable  intention, 
has  collapsed.  Your  one  duty  now,  gentlemen,  is  to  return  a 
verdict  of  not  guilty.  Will  it  be  necessary  for  you  to  retire 
to  the  jury  room?" 

The  jurymen  had  been  exchanging  glances.  Now  the  fore 
man  rose,  tall  and  solemn,  with  beard  upon  his  breast. 

"Your  honor,  it  will  not  be  necessary  for  the  jury  to 
retire,"  said  he.  "  We  are  ready  to  return  our  verdict." 


334  The   Bondboy 


According  to  the  form,  the  foreman  wrote  out  the  verdict 
on  the  blank  provided  by  statute;  he  stood  with  his  fellows 
while  the  clerk  of  the  court  read  it  aloud: 

"We,  the  jury,  find  the  defendant  not  guilty." 

The  judge  looked  down  at  Joe,  who  had  turned  to  his 
mother,  smiling  through  his  tears. 

"  You  are  free,  God  bless  you  !  "  said  he. 

When  a  judge  says  so  much  more  upon  the  bench  than 
precedent,  form,  and  custom  prescribe  for  him  to  say;  when 
he  puts  down  the  hard  mask  of  the  law  and  discovers  his 
human  face  behind  it,  and  his  human  heart  moving  his  warm, 
human  blood;  when  a  judge  on  the  bench  does  that,  what 
can  be  expected  of  the  unsanctified  mob  in  front  of  him? 

It  was  said  by  many  that  Captain  Taylor  led  the  applause 
himself,  but  there  were  others  who  claimed  that  distinction  for 
Colonel  Price.  No  matter. 

While  the  house  did  not  rise  as  one  man- — for  in  every 
house  there  are  old  joints  and  young  ones,  which  do  not 
unlimber  with  the  same  degree  of  alacrity,  no  matter  what 
the  incitement  —  it  got  to  its  feet  in  surprising  order,  with 
a  great  tossing  of  arms  and  waving  of  hats  and  coats.  In 
the  midst  of  this  glad  turmoil  stood  Uncle  Posen  Spratt, 
head  and  shoulders  above  the  crowd,  mounted  on  a  bench, 
his  steer's  horn  ear-trumpet  to  his  whiskered  lips,  like  an 
Israelitish  priest,  blowing  his  famous  fox-hound  blast,  which 
had  been  heard  five  miles  on  a  still  autumn  night. 

Less  than  half  an  hour  before,  the  public  would  have 
attended  Joe  Ncwbolt's  hanging  with  all  the  pleasurable  and 
satisfactory  thrills  which  men  draw  from  such  melancholy 
events.  Now  it  was  clamoring  to  lift  him  to  its  shoulders  and 
bear  him  in  triumph  through  the  town. 

Judge  Maxwell  smiled,  and  adjourned  court,  which  order 
nobody  but  his  clerk  heard,  and  let  them  have  their  noisy 
way.  When  the  people  saw  him  come  down  from  the  bench 


Ollie  Speaks  335 


they  quieted,  not  understanding  his  purpose ;  and  when  he 
reached  out  his  hand  to  Joe,  who  rose  to  meet  him,  silence 
settled  over  the  house.  Judge  Maxwell  put  his  arm  around 
Joe's  shoulder  in  fatherly  way  while  he  shook  hands  with  Mrs. 
Newbolt.  What  he  said,  nobody  but  those  within  the  bar 
heard,  but  he  gave  Joe's  back  an  expressive  slap  of  approval 
as  he  turned  to  the  prosecuting  attorney. 

People  rushed  forward  with  the  suddenness  of  water  re 
leased,  to  shake  hands  with  Joe  when  they  understood  that 
the  court  was  in  adjournment.  They  crowded  inside  the  rail, 
almost  overwhelming  him,  exclaiming  in  loud  terms  of  admi 
ration,  addressing  him  familiarly,  to  his  excessive  embar 
rassment,  pressing  upon  him  their  assurances  that  they  knew, 
all  the  time,  that  he  didn't  do  it,  and  that  he  would  come  out 
of  it  with  head  and  tail  both  up,  as  he  had  come  through. 

Men  who  would  have  passed  him  yesterday  without  a 
second  thought,  and  who  wrould  no  more  have  given  their 
hands  to  him  on  the  footing  of  equality  —  unless  they  had 
chanced  to  be  running  for  office  —  than  they  would  have 
thrust  them  into  the  fire,  now  stood  there  smiling  and  jostling 
and  waiting  their  turns  to  reach  him,  all  of  them  chattering 
and  mouthing  and  nodding  heads  until  one  would  have 
thought  that  each  of  them  was  a  prophet,  and  had  predicted 
this  very  thing. 

The  old  generals,  colonels,  majors,  and  captains  —  that 
was  the  lowest  rank  in  Shelby ville  —  and  the  noncommissioned 
substantial  first  citizens  of  the  county,  were  shaking  hands 
among  themselves,  and  nodding  and  smiling,  full  of  the  fine 
feeling  of  that  moment.  It  M'as  a  triumph  of  chivalry,  they 
said ;  they  had  witnessed  the  renaissance  of  the  old  spirit,  the 
passing  of  which,  and  the  dying  out  and  dwindling  of  it  in  the 
rising  generation,  they  had  so  long  and  lamentably  deplored. 

There,  before  their  eyes,  they  had  seen  this  uncouth  grub 
transformed  into  a  glorious  and  noble  thing,  and  the  only 


336 The   Bom] hot/ 

discord  in  the  miraculous  harmony  of  it  was  the  deep-lying 
regret  that  it  was  not  a  son  of  Shelbyville  who  had  thus 
proved  himself  a  man.  And  then  the  colonels  and  others  broke 
off  their  self-felicitation  to  join  the  forward  mob  in  the  front 
of  the  room,  and  press  their  congratulations  upon  Joe. 

Joe,  embarrassed  and  awkward,  tried  to  be  genial,  but 
hardly  succeeded  in  being  civil,  for  his  heart  was  not  with 
them  in  what  he  felt  to  be  nothing  but  a  cheap  emotion.  He 
was  looking  over  their  heads,  and  peering  between  their 
shoulders,  watching  the  progress  of  a  little  red  feather  in 
a  Highland  bonnet,  which  was  making  its  way  toward  him 
through  the  confusion  like  a  bold  pennant  upon  the  crest 
of  battle.  Joe  pushed  through  the  wedging  mass  of  people 
around,  and  went  to  the  bar  to  meet  her. 

In  the  time  of  his  distress,  these  who  now  clamored  around 
him  with  professions  of  friendliness  had  not  held  up  a  hand 
to  sustain  him,  nor  given  him  one  good  word  to  shore  up  his 
sinking  soul.  But  there  was  one  who  had  known  and  under 
stood;  one  whose  faith  had  held  him  up  to  the  heights  of 
honor,  and  his  soul  stood  in  his  eyes  to  greet  her  as  lie 
waited  for  her  to  come.  lie  did  not  know  what  lie  would 
say  when  hand  touched  hand,  but  he  felt  that  he  could  fall 
down  upon  his  knees  as  a  subject  sinks  before  a  queen. 

Behind  him  he  heard  his  mother's  voice,  thanking  the  people 
who  offered  their  congratulations.  It  was  a  great  day  for 
her  when  the  foremost  citi/ens  of  the  county  came  forward, 
their  hats  in  their  hands,  to  pay  their  respects  to  her  Joe. 
She  felt  that  he  was  rising  up  to  his  place  at  last,  and  coming 
into  his  own. 

Joe  heard  his  mother's  voice,  but  it  was  sound  to  him  now 
without  words.  Alice  was  coming.  She  was  now  just  a  little 
way  beyond  the  reach  of  his  arm,  and  her  presence  filled  the 
world. 

The  people  had   their  quick  eyes  on  Alice,  also,  and  they 


Ollie  Speaks 337 

fell  apart  to  let  her  pass,  the  flame  of  a  new  expectation  in 
their  keen  faces.  After  yesterday's  strange  act,  which  seemed 
so  prophetic  of  today's  climax  in  the  case,  what  was  she  going 
to  do?  Joe  wondered  in  his  heart  with  them;  he  tremhled 
in  his  eagerness  to  know. 

She  was  now  at  the  last  row  of  benches,  not  five  feet  distant 
from  him,  where  she  stood  a  second,  while  she  looked  up 
into  his  face  and  smiled,  lifting  her  hand  in  a  little  expres 
sive  gesture.  Then  she  turned  aside  to  the  place  where  Ollie 
Chase  sat,  shame-stricken  and  stunned,  beside  her  mother. 

The  women  who  had  been  sitting  near  Ollie  had  withdrawn 
from  her,  as  if  she  had  become  unclean  with  her  confession. 
And  now,  as  Alice  approached,  Ollie's  mother  gave  her  a  hard, 
resentful  look,  and  put  her  arm  about  her  daughter  as  if 
to  protect  her  from  any  physical  indignities  which  Alice 
might  be  bent  on  offering. 

Ollie  shrank  against  her  mother,  her  hair  bright  above 
her  somber  garb,  as  if  it  was  the  one  spot  in  her  where  any 
of  the  sunshine  of  her  past  remained.  Alice  went  to  her 
with  determined  directness.  She  bent  over  her,  and  took  her 
by  the  hand. 

"  Thank  you !  You're  the  bravest  woman  in  the  world !  " 
she  said. 

Ollie  looked  up,  wonder  and  disbelief  struggling  against 
the  pathetic  hopelessness  in  her  eyes.  Alice  bent  lower.  She 
kissed  the  young  widow's  pale  forehead. 

Joe  was  ashamed  that  he  had  forgotten  Ollie.  He  saw 
tears  come  into  Ollie's  eyes  as  she  clung  closer  to  Alice's 
hand,  and  he  heard  the  shocked  gasping  of  women,  and  the 
grunts  of  men,  and  the  stirring  murmur  of  surprise  which 
shook  the  crowd.  He  opened  the  little  gate  in  the  railing  and 
went  out. 

"  You  didn't  have  to  do  that  for  me,  Ollie,"  said  he,  kindly ; 
'•  I  could  have  got  on,  somehow,  without  that." 


338  The  Sandboy 


"  Both  of  you  —  "  said  Ollic,  a  sob  shaking  her  breath  ;  "  it 
was  for  both  of  you  !  " 

There  was  a  churchlike  stillness  around  them.  Colonel 
Price  had  advanced,  and  now  stood  near  the  little  group,  a 
look  of  understanding  in  his  kind  old  face.  Ollie  mastered 
her  sudden  gust  of  weeping,  and  shook  her  disordered  hair 
back  from  IHT  forehead,  a  defiant  light  in  her  eyes. 

"'I  don't  care  now,  I  don't  care  what  anybody  says!" 
said  she. 

Her  mother  glanced  around  with  the  fire  of  battle  in  her 
eves.  In  that  look  she  deh'ed  the  public,  and  uttered  her 
contempt  for  its  valuation  and  opinion.  .Mice  Price  had 
lifted  her  crushed  and  broken  daughter  up.  She  had  taken 
her  bv  the  hand,  and  she  had  kissed  her,  to  show  the  world 
that  she  did  not  hold  her  as  one  defiled.  Judge  Maxwell 
and  all  of  them  had  seen  her  do  it.  She  had  given  Ollie 
absolution  before  all  men. 

Ollie  drew  her  cloak  around  her  shoulders  and  rose  to  her 
feet. 

"  Remember  that ;  for  both  of  you,  for  one  as  much  as  the 
other,"  said  she,  looking  into  Alice's  eyes.  "Come  on. 
Mother;  we'll  go  home  now." 

Ollie  walked  out  of  the  court-room  with  her  head  up, 
looking  the  world  in  the  face.  In  place  of  the  mark  of  tin- 
beast  on  her  forehead,  she  was  carrying  the  cool  benediction 
of  a  virtuous  kiss.  Joe  and  Alice  stood  looking  after  her 
until  she  reached  the  door ;  even  the  most  careless  there 
waited  her  exit  as  if  it  was  part  of  some  solemn  ceremony. 
When  she  had  passed  out  of  sight  beyond  the  door,  the 
crowd  moved  suddenly  and  noisily  after  her.  For  the  public, 
the  show  was  over. 

Alice  looked  up  into  Joe's  face.  There  was  uncertainty 
in  his  eves  still,  for  he  was  no  wiser  than  those  in  their 
generations  before  him  who  had  failed  to  read  a  woman's 


Ollie  Speaks  339 


heart.  Alice  saw  that  cloud  hovering  before  the  sun  of  his 
felicity.  She  lifted  her  hands  and  gave  them  to  him,  as  one 
restoring  to  its  owner  something  that  cannot  be  denied. 

Face  to  face  for  a  moment  they  stood  thus,  hands  clasped 
in  hands.  For  them  the  world  was  empty  of  prying  eyes, 
wondering  minds,  impertinent  faces.  For  a  moment  they 
were  alone. 

The  jurors  had  come  out  of  the  box,  and  were  following 
the  crowd.  Hammer  was  gathering  up  his  books  and  papers, 
Judge  Maxwell  and  the  prosecuting  attorney  were  talking 
with  Mrs.  Newbolt.  The  sheriff  was  waiting  near  the  bar, 
as  if  he  had  some  duty  yet  before  him  to  discharge.  A 
smile  had  come  over  Colonel  Price's  face,  where  it  spread 
like  a  benediction  as  Joe  and  Alice  turned  to  enter  the 
world  again. 

"  I  want  to  shake  hands  with  you,  Joe,"  said  the  sheriff, 
"  and  wish  3rou  good  luck.  I  always  knowed  you  was  as 
innercent  as  a  child." 

Joe  obliged  him,  and  thanked  him  for  his  expression,  but 
there  were  things  in  the  past  which  were  not  so  easily  wiped 
from  the  memory  —  especially  a  chafed  ring  around  his  left 
wrist,  where  the  sheriff's  iron  had  galled  him  when  he  had  fret 
ted  against  it  during  the  tense  moments  of  those  past  days. 

Sam  Lucas  offered  Joe  his  hand. 

"  No  hard  feeling,  Joe,  I  hope?  "  said  he. 

"  Well,  not  in  particular  —  oh,  well,  you  were  only  doing 
your  duty,  as  you  saw  it,"  said  Joe. 

"  You  could  have  saved  the  county  a  lot  of  money,  and 
yourself  and  your  friends  a  lot  of  trouble  and  anxiety, 
if  you'd  told  us  all  about  this  thing  at  the  beginning,"  com 
plained  Lucas,  with  lingering  severity. 

"As  for  that- — "  began  Colonel  Price. 

"You  knew  it,  Miss  Price,"  Lucas  cut  in.  "Why  didn't 
you  make  him  tell  ?  " 


340 The   Kondboi/ 

"  Xo,"  said  Alice,  quietly,  "I  didn't  know,  Mr.  Lucas.  I 
only  believed  in  him.  Besides  that,  there  arc  some  things 
that  YOU  can't  make  a  gentleman  tell!" 

''Just  so."  said  Judge  Maxwell,  coming  down  from  the 
bench  with  his  books  under  his  arm. 

"Bless  your  heart,  honey,"  said  Mrs.  Xewbolt,  touching 
Alice's  hair  with  gentle,  almost  reverent  hand,  "you  knew 
him  better  than  his  old  mother  did!" 

Colonel  Price  bowed  ceremoniously  to  Mrs.  Xewbolt. 

"  I  want  YOU  and  Joe  to  come  home  with  us  for  some 
refreshment,"  said  he,  "after  which  the  bov  and  I  must  have 
a  long,  long  talk.  Mr.  Hammer,  sir,"  said  he,  giving  that 
astonished  lawyer  his  hand,  "  I  beg  the  honor  of  shaking 
hands  with  a  rising  gentleman,  sir!" 


CHAPTER    XXII 

A  SUMMONS    OF   THE    NIGHT 

THERE  was  a  voice  of  moaning  abroad  in  the  night.  It 
sounded  as  the  rain  swept  through  the  rocking  trees  and 
bent  its  spears  against  Judge  Maxwell's  study  windows ;  it 
sighed  in  his  chimney  like  an  old  man  turning  the  ashes  of 
spent  dreams.  It  was  an  unkind  night  for  one  to  be  abroad, 
for  the  rain  seemed  as  penetrating  as  sorrow.  Few  passed 
upon  the  street  beneath  the  judge's  windows  where  his  dim 
light  glowed. 

Now  and  then  the  sound  of  hoofs  and  wheels  rose  above 
the  Avail  of  the  storm,  sharp  for  a  moment  as  it  passed,  quickly 
dimmed,  quickly  lost.  It  was  a  night  to  be  beneath  one's 
own  roof,  beside  one's  own  fire,  feeling  the  thankfulness 
for  such  plain  comforts  which  one  passes  over  in  the  sunny 
days. 

Judge  Maxwell  had  a  fire  of  hickory  wood  in  his  chimney, 
and  a  tall,  dark  bottle  on  the  small  stand  at  his  elbow.  On 
the  long  table  at  his  other  hand  stood  his  shaded  lamp, 
pouring  its  concentrated  beams  upon  his  papers  and  books, 
leaving  the  corners  of  the  room  in  shadows.  The  judge  sat 
with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  studying  the  fire. 

All  day,  since  the  adjournment  of  court,  the  remarkable 
termination  of  and  disclosures  in  the  case  of  State  against 
Newbolt  had  been  flowing  through  his  mind;  all  day,  all 
evening,  the  white,  strong  face  of  the  defendant  youth  had 
stood  before  his  eyes.  He  could  not  turn  from  it,  nor  forget 
the  appeal  of  those  grave,  gray  eyes. 

Never  before,  in  his  long  and  honorable  life,  had  the  judge 
been  moved  by  a  case  as  this  had  moved  him.  There  was 

341 


342  The  Bondbo?/ 


nothing  in  all  his  rich  experience  to  equal  it.  In  all  his 
reading  — 

"  Hnni-m-m,"  said  the  judge,  reflectively,  remembering. 
He  rose  slowly  and  went  to  the  bookcase  nearest  the  fire.  lie 
took  down  a  leather-bound  volume  and  returned  to  his  chair, 
where  he  sat  with  his  legs  crossed,  supporting  the  heavy 
book  upon  his  knee.  Reflectively  he  turned  the  pages,  re 
flectively  he  read,  shaking  his  head  when  he  had  done. 

"No,  it  is  not  a  parallel,"  said  he.  "The  matter  involved 
has  only  a  remote  similitude.  I  do  not  believe  the  annals  of 
jurisprudence  contain  another  case  to  compare  with  that  of 
our  own  Joe  Xewbolt." 

The  judge  put  the  volume  back  in  its  place,  pausing  at 
the  table  as  he  returned  to  his  chair  to  turn  down  the  flame 
of  the  lamp.  It  was  too  bright  for  the  judge's  mood;  it  was 
inharmonious  with  the  penitential  night.  Almost  like  a  voice, 
strident  and  in  discord  above  the  sobbing  music  of  an  orches 
tra,  thought  the  judge.  The  firelight  was  better  for  a  mood 
such  as  his. 

One  can  see  farther  back  by  the  soft  glow  of  wood  coals, 
leaning  over  and  looking  into  them,  than  under  the  gleam 
of  the  strongest  lamp.  Judge  Maxwell  had  a  long  vista 
behind  him  to  review,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  night  that 
it  was  a  picture  with  more  shadow  than  gleam.  This  day's 
events  had  set  him  upon  the  train  of  retrospection,  of  moody 
thought. 

He  had  seen  that  boy,  Joe  Xewbolt,  leap  out  of  the  ob 
scurity  of  his  life  into  the  place  of  heroes,  as  he  would  have 
had  his  own  son  do,  if  he  could  have  kept  him  by  his  side 
and  fashioned  his  life.  But  that  boy  was  gone;  long  years 
ago  he  had  left  him,  and  none  had  come  after  him  to  stand 
in  his  place.  His  little,  worn  books,  which  he  used  to  sprawl 
upon  the  floor  and  read,  were  treasured  there  on  their  sacred 
shelf  behind  the  bookcase  glass.  The  light  had  failed  out 


A  Summons  of  the  Night 343 

of  the  eyes  which  had  found  wonders  in  them,  more  than 
thirty  years  ago. 

The  lad's  mother  had  followed  him ;  nobody  remained  to 
the  judge  now  out  of  those  days  of  his  struggle  and  slow- 
mounting  hope,  save  old  Hiram,  his  negro  man,  a  family 
servitor  since  the  times  of  slavery,  and  he  was  trembling  on 
the  limb  to  fall. 

Yes,  that  was  the  way  that  he  would  have  had  his  own 
boy  stand,  true  to  a  trust,  faithful  in  his  honor,  even  under 
the  beam  of  the  gallows-tree ;  stand  as  that  lad  Joe  Newbolt 
had  stood,  unschooled  though  he  was  in  everything  but  that 
deep  sense  of  duty  devolving  on  one  born  free.  Such  nobility 
was  the  peculiar  birthright  of  the  true  American. 

Scarcely  behind  Joe  Newbolt  stood  that  hitherto  weak 
woman,  Ollie  Chase.  It  called  for  courage  to  do  what  she 
had  done.  She  had  only  to  keep  her  peace,  and  hide  whatever 
pity  she  felt  and  pain  she  suffered  on  account  of  the  lad 
who  stood  ready  to  sacrifice  his  life  for  her,  to  proceed  upon 
her  way  clean  in  the  eyes  of  men.  She  must  have  endured 
the  tortures  of  hidden  fires  through  those  weeks  of  uncertainty 
and  suspense,  thought  he. 

Yes,  Ollie  Chase  had  her  own  nobility;  the  laurel  was  due 
her  poor,  smirched  brow,  just  as  much  as  it  was  to  Joe  New- 
bolt's  lofty  forehead.  Contrition  doubtless  played  its  part 
in  driving  her  to  open  confession,  and  the  pain  of  concealment 
must  have  been  hard  to  bear.  But  there  was  an  underlying 
nobility  in  that  woman's  heart  which  had  urged  her  on 
stronger  than  all.  It  is  a  spark  in  the  breast  of  even  the 
most  debased,  thought  the  judge,  which  abnegation  and 
sacrifice  often  kindle  into  a  beautiful  flame. 

And  there  was  Alice  Price,  with  her  fine  intuition  and 
sublime  faith.  What  a  white  soul  that  strong  young  woman 
had,  said  he ;  what  a  beautiful  and  spotless  heart.  In  that 
kiss  which  she  had  stooped  to  press  on  the  young  widow's 


344  The  Bondboi/ 


forehead  she  had  wiped  away  the  difference  which  Ollie's  sin 
had  set  between  her  and  other  women.  It  was  an  act  of 
generosity  without  ostentation,  which  lie  doubted  whether 
Alice  Price  herself  was  aware  of  in  its  farthest  significance. 
It  was  the  spontaneous  act  of  womanly  sympathy  and  un 
conscious  charity. 

What  Ollie  Chase  had  said  to  them  as  they  stood  before 
her,  Judge  Maxwell  did  not  know,  but  what  was  written  in 
their  young  faces  as  they  turned  from  watching  her  go,  the 
whole  world  might  have  read  —  if  it  had  been  as  watchful 
nnd  wise  as  he.  What  a  fitting  mate  she  was  for  that  young 
lion,  Joe  Xcwbolt,  thought  the  judge;  such  a  mate,  indeed, 
as  he  would  have  chosen  for  his  own  son  if  God  had  seen 
fit  to  give  him  that  transcendent  joy. 

Judge  Maxwell  found  himself  greatly  concerned  about  Joe 
Newbolt's  future.  He  wondered  what  he  would  make  of  it 
if  left  to  go  about  it  in  his  own  way;  what  he  would  make  of 
it  if  properly  armed  and  encouraged.  He  followed  that 
speculation  a  long  way  down  the  future,  building  dimly,  but 
pleasantly,  in  his  dream. 

A  ring  sounded  at  the  front  door. 

Judge  Maxwell  did  not  even  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the 
fire.  Some  lawyer  over  in  one  of  the  other  two  counties 
embraced  in  that  circuit  telegraphing  to  ask  some  favor  of 
delay,  or  favor  of  something  else.  To  ask  a  favor,  certainly  ; 
lawyers  never  telegraphed  to  confer  favors.  Old  Hiram, 
dozing  by  the  kitchen  stove,  would  hear. 

Presently  old  Hiram's  shuffling  feet  sounded  along  the  hall 
outside  Judge  Maxwell's  study  door.  The  outer  door  opened 
and  closed.  Old  Hiram  came  into  the  judge's  room,  a  candle 
in  his  hand. 

"There's  a  man  wishin'  to  see  you,  judge,  sah,"  he  an 
nounced. 

Judge  Maxwell  started  from  his  reverie.      In  the  minute 


A  Summons  of  f;tc  ^igJi-t  345 

that  had  passed  between  the  ring  at  the  door  and  the  entry 
of  Hiram,  he  had  put  the  visitor  out  of  his  head. 

"A  gentleman  to  see  me,  Hiram?    Who  is  it?  " 

"  No,  sah ;  I  don't  think  he's  'zactly  a  gentleman,  sah.  I 
don't  know  who  he  is ;  he  nevah  give  me  no  card,  sah,  but  he's 
moughty  sploshed  and  blustery  lookin'." 

"Well—  "  the  judge  rose,  halting  his  speech  as  if  thinking 
of  one  thing  and  speaking  of  another  —  "  fetch  him  in  here, 
Hiram." 

"  He's  drippin'  and  drappin'  like  a  leaky  pail,  sah,"  said 
Hiram,  shaking  his  cottony  old  head. 

"  No  matter ;  he'll  do  no  harm,  Hiram." 

Hiram  brought  the  visitor  in.  The  judge  advanced  to 
meet  him. 

The  stranger's  rubber  coat  glistened  in  the  light,  and  the 
hat  that  he  carried  in  his  hand  trickled  a  little  stream  on  the 
carpet  as  he  crossed  the  room.  Old  Hiram  lingered  at  the 
door,  holding  his  candle  aloft. 

The  stranger  stopped  midway  between  Judge  Maxwell  and 
the  door,  as  if  uncertain  of  his  welcome,  or  conscious  just 
at  that  moment  of  his  drenched  and  dripping  state.  He  was 
a  tall  man  and  sparely  built,  and  his  light-colored  wet  hair 
lay  in  little  ringlets  against  his  temples.  His  mustache  was 
short  and  stubby.  His  garments  were  splashed  with  mud,  as 
if  he  had  come  a  long  distance  over  rough  roads.  There 
was  a  haggard  and  harried  look  in  the  man's  eyes ;  he 
seemed  at  the  highest  pitch  of  nervous  tension.  His  lips 
were  set  in  a  grim  line,  as  if  he  struggled  to  hold  something 
from  utterance.  His  eyes  were  wide  and  wild. 

"  Judge  Maxwell,"  he  began,  looking  around  him  from  side 
to  side  in  quick  starts,  "  I  must  apologize  to  you  for  coming 
into  your  house  in  this  condition,  and  for  this  late  call.  But 
I'm  hero  on  important  business ;  I  ask  you  to  give  me  a 
few  minutes  of  your  time  alone." 


34(>  The  Bondboy 


The  judge  nodded  to  Hiram,  who  closed  the  door  after  him. 

"  Take  oil'  tliat  wet  coat  — give  me  your  hat,  and  sit  here," 
said  the  judge,  pulling  a  chair  around  to  the  fire. 

The  visitor  drew  oil'  his  rubber  garment. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  he.  "  My  name  is  Morgan,  and 
I've  come  over  hell's  highway,  as  the  man  said,  to  get  to 
Shelbyville  tonight." 

"Not  Curtis  Morgan?"  said  Judge  Maxwell,  lifting  his 
eves  in  startled  surprise,  staying  the  stream  of  liquor  that  he 
was  decanting  into  a  glass. 

"  Yes.  You've  heard  my  name  before  tonight,  I  see,"  the 
visitor  said. 

""Just  so,"  replied  the  judge,  in  his  studious  way.  "Drink 
this,  unless  you  have  scruples?" 

"  It  looks  to  me  like  a  life-preserver  to  a  drowning  man," 
said  Morgan,  with  a  glimmer  of  his  every-day  facctiousncss. 
He  drained  the  glass;  the  judge  motioned  for  him  to  sit  down. 
Morgan  did  so,  and  stretched  his  wet  feet  to  the  fire. 

"I've  got  a  story  to  tell  you,  Judge  Maxwell,"  said  he, 
again  casting  his  quick,  almost  fearful  look  around,  "that 
will  sound  to  you,  maybe,  like  a  wild-eyed  dream.  But  I  want 
to  tell  you  right  now,  it  ain't  no  dream  —  not  bv  a  million 
miles!  I  wish  it  was,"  he  added,  with  a  serious  twist  of 
the  head. 

"Go  on,"  said  the  judge. 

"  I've  hurried  here,  Judge  Maxwell,  to  do  what  I  can  in 
the  name  of  justice  and  humanity,"  Morgan  said.  "That 
boy,  Joe  Xewbolt,  on  trial  here  before  you  for  the  murder 
of  old  man  Chase,  is  innocent.  That  boy  is  telling  the  truth. 
Judge,  and  I'll  stake  my  neck  on  that.  I've  got  a  storv  to 
tell  you  that  will  clear  up  all  he's  holding  back,  and  I'll  tell  it, 
if  I  swing  for  it !  " 

Morgan  was  greatly  agitated.  He  stopped  there,  looking 
earnestly  into  the  judge's  face. 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  347 

"  Why  have  you  waited  so  long?  "  asked  the  judge,  sternly. 

Morgan  leaned  over,  clutching  at  the  judge's  arm. 

"Am  I  too  late  —  is  it  over  —  have  they  convicted  him?" 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  it's  over,"  nodded  the  judge,  studying  Morgan's 
face  narrowly. 

A'  Merciful  heavens ! "  said  Morgan,  springing  to  his  feet, 
looking  around  for  his  coat  and  hat.  "We  must  stop  this 
thing  before  it's  too  late,  Judge  —  I  tell  you  we  must  stop  it ! 
Isn't  there  some  way  —  have  they  convicted  Joe?  " 

"  Sit  down,  Morgan,  and  calm  yourself.  Hold  your  feet 
out  to  the  blaze  and  dry  them,"  the  judge  admonished,  kindly. 

"What's  happened?"  asked  Morgan,  wildly,  not  heeding 
the  command. 

"  You  shall  hear  it  all  in  time,"  promised  the  judge. 
"  Sit  down  here  and  tell  me  what  you've  been  doing  all  these 
weeks.  Where  have  you  been?" 

"  Judge,  I've  been  over  in  Saint  Joe  selling  books,"  said 
Morgan,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  the  truth,  Judge,  I  never  intended 
to  come  back  here."  He  turned  and  faced  the  judge,  leaning 
forward  earnestly,  his  face  white.  He  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "  But  I  had  to  come  back  —  I  was  sent  back 
by  —  by  a  voice!" 

"  Just  so,"  nodded  Judge  Maxwell. 

"  You  may  think  it's  a  pipe-dream,  Judge,  but  it  ain't. 
It's  the  solemn  truth,  if  I  ever  told  it  in  my  life.  I  intended 
to  let  Joe  Newbolt  go  on  and  carry  what  he'd  picked  up,  and 
then  when  he  was  out  of  the  way  in  the  pen,  or  worse,  maybe, 
I  intended  to  hunt  Ollie  up  and  marry  her.  I  didn't  want 
that  business  that  Joe  Newbolt's  been  keeping  back  let  out 
on  her,  don't  you  see,  Judge?  It  concerns  her  and  me, 
Judge ;  it  ain't  the  kind  of  a  story  a  man's  folks  would  want 
told  around  about  his  wife,  you  understand?" 

The  judge  nodded. 

23 


348 The  Bondboy 

"All  right,"'  said  Morgan,  wiping  his  forehead,  which  v,  as 
beaded  with  sweat.  ''Last  night  along  about  ten  o'clock  I 
was  in  my  room  reading  the  account  in  the  paper  of  how  Joe 
had  refused  on  the  stand  yesterday  to  tell  anything,  and  how 
a  voung  woman  had  stood  up  in  the  court-room  and  backed 
him  up  and  encouraged  him  in  his  stand.  I  was  reading  along 
comfortable  and  all  right,  when  I  seemed  to  hear  somebody 
call  me  by  my  name. 

"  I  tell  you  I  seemed  to  hear  it,  for  there  wasn't  a  soul  in 
that  room  but  myself,  Judge.  But  that  voice  seemed  to  sound 
as  close  to  my  car  as  if  it  come  out  of  a  telephone.  And  it 
was  a  woman's  voice,  too,  believe  me  or  not,  Judge!" 

"  Yes?  "  said  the  judge,  encouragingly,  still  studying  Mor 
gan's  face,  curiously. 

"Yes,  sir.  She  repeated  my  name,  'Curtis  Morgan,'  just 
that  way.  And  then  that  voice  seemed  to  say  to  me,  '  Come 
to  Shelbyville;  start  now,  start  now!' 

"  Say,  I  got  out  of  my  chair,  all  in  a  cold  sweat,  for  I 
thought  it  was  a  call,  and  I  was  slated  to  pass  in  my  checks 
right  there.  I  looked  under  everything,  back  of  everything 
in  that  room,  and  opened  the  door  and  took  a  dive  down  the 
hall,  thinkin'  maybe  some  swift  guy  was  tryin'  to  put  one 
over.  Nobody  there.  As  empty,  Judge,  I  tell  you,  as  the 
pa'm  of  my  hand!  But  it's  no  stall  about  that  voice.  I 
heard  it,  as  plain  as  I  ever  heard  my  mother  call  me,  or  the 
teacher  speak  to  me  in  school. 

"I  stood  there  holding  onto  the  back  of  my  chair,  my  legs 
as  weak  under  me  as  if  I'd  stayed  in  swimmin'  too  long.  I 
didn't  think  anything  about  going  to  Shelbyville,  or  anywhere 
else,  but  hell,  I  guess,  for  a  minute  or  two.  I  tell  you, 
Judge,  I  thought  it  was  a  call!" 

Morgan  was  sweating  again  in  the  recollection  of  that 
terrible  experience.  lie  wiped  his  face,  and  looked  around  the 
room,  listened  as  the  rain  splashed  against  the  window,  and 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  349 

the  wind  bent  the  branches  of  the  great  trees  beside  the  wall. 

"  Well?  "  said  Judge  Maxwell,  leaning  forward  in  his  turn, 
waiting  for  Morgan's  next  word. 

"  I  tell  you,  Judge,  I  kept  hearing  that  thing  in  my  eai1 
that  way,  every  little  while,  till  I  threw  some  things  in  my 
grip  and  started  for  the  depot.  There  wasn't  any  train  out 
last  night  that'd  fetch  me  within  fifty  miles  of  here.  I 
went  back  to  my  room  and  went  to  bed.  But  it  didn't  let  up 
on  me.  Off  and  on,  all  night,  just  about  the  time  I'd  doze  off 
a  little,  I'd  seem  to  hear  that  voice.  I  went  to  the  depot  this 
morning,  and  caught  the  eight  o'clock  train  out.  I'd  'a'  made 
it  in  here  at  two  this  afternoon  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  washout 
between  here  and  the  junction  that  put  the  trains  on  this 
branch  out  of  service. 

"  I  took  a  rig  and  I  started  to  drive  over.  I  got  caught  in 
the  rain  and  lost  the  road.  I've  been  miles  out  of  my  way, 
and  used  up  three  horses,  but  I  was  bound  to  come.  And  I'm 
here  to  take  my  medicine." 

"I  see,"  said  the  judge.  "Well,  Morgan,  I  think  it  was 
the  voice  of  conscience  that  you  heard,  but  you're  no  more 
to  blame  than  any  of  us,  I  suppose,  because  you  failed  to 
recognize  it.  Few  of  us  pay  enough  attention  to  it  to  let  it 
bother  us  that  way." 

"  Believe  me  or  not,  it  wasn't  any  pipe-dream ! "  said  Mor 
gan,  so  earnestly  that  the  flippancy  of  his  slangy  speech  did 
not  seem  out  of  place.  "  It  was  a  woman's  voice,  but  it 
wasn't  the  voice  of  any  woman  in  this  world ! " 

"  It's  a  strange  experience,"  said  the  judge. 

"You  can  call  it  that!"  shuddered  Morgan,  expressive  of 
the  inadequacy  of  the  words.  "Anyhow,  I  don't  want  to  hear 
it  again,  and  I'm  here  to  take  my  medicine,  and  go  to  the 
pen  if  I've  got  to,  Judge." 

Judge  Maxwell  put  out  his  hand,  impatiently. 

"  Don't  try  to  make  yourself  out  a  martyr,  Morgan,"  said 


350 The  Bondboj/ 

he.  "  You  knew  —  and  you  know  —  very  well  that  you  hadn't 
done  anything  for  which  you  could  be  punished,  at  least  not 
by  a  prison  sentence." 

"Well,  I  don't,  know,"  said  Morgan,  twisting  his  head 
argumcntatively,  as  if  to  imply  that  there  was  more  behind 
his  villainy  than  the  judge  supposed,  "but  I  thought  when 
a  feller  got  to  foolin'  with  another  man's  wife  — 

"Oh,  pshaw!  "  cut  in  the  judge.  "  You're  thinking  of  it  as 
it  should  be,  not  as  it  is.  The  thing  that  you're  guilty  of, 
let  me  tell  you  for  your  future  guidance  and  peace,  is  only  a 
misdemeanor  in  this  state,  not  a  felony.  In  a  case  like  this 
it  ought  to  be  a  capital  offense.  You've  shown  that  there's 
something  in  you  by  coming  back  to  take  your  medicine,  as 
you  say,  and  voice  or  no  voice,  Morgan,  I'm  going  to  give 
you  credit  for  that." 

"If  the  devil  ever  rode  a  man!"  said  Morgan. 

"No,  it  was  far  from  that,"  reproved  the  judge. 

"  It  got  me  goin',  Judge,"  said  Morgan,  scaring  up  a 
little  jerky  laugh,  "and  it  got  me  goin'  right!  It  stuck  to 
me  till  I  got  on  that  train  and  headed  for  this  town,  and  I'll 
hear  the  ring  of  it  in  mv  ear  to  mv  last  —  what's  that?" 

Morgan  started  to  his  feet,  pale  and  shaking. 

"It  was  the  wind,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Well,  I'm  here,  anyhow,  and  I  came  fast  as  I  could," 
said  Morgan,  appealingly.  "Do  you  think  it'll  stick  to  me, 
and  keep  it  up?  " 

"Why  should  it?"  said  the  judge.  "You've  done  your 
duty,  even  though  whipped  to  it." 

"If  the  devil  ever  whipped  a  man  !"  breathed  Morgan,  "I'm 
that  man." 

Judge  Maxwell  had  doubted  the  man's  sanity  at  first, 
when  he  began  to  talk  about  the  voice.  Now  he  only  mar 
veled  at  this  thing,  so  elusive  of  all  human  science  to  explain, 
or  human  philosophy  to  define.  He  recalled  an  experience 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  351 

of  a  friend  —  one  who  had  been  for  many  years  court  stenog 
rapher —  who,  in  a  distant  city,  had  been  impelled  to  seize 
his  pencil  on  a  certain  night,  and  write  a  message  which  he 
seemed  to  hear  plainly  dictated  into  his  ear  by  one  in 
Shelbyville.  As  soon  as  the  post  could  carry  a  message  to 
the  man  whose  voice  the  stenographer  had  heard,  he  was 
asked  about  the  telepathic  communication.  He  at  once 
mailed  to  the  man  who  had  taken  it  down,  more  than  two 
thousand  miles  away,  the  identical  message,  word  for  word. 
It  had  been  an  experiment,  he  said. 

Perhaps  something  like  that  had  occurred  in  Morgan's 
case,  or  perhaps  the  man  merely  had  dreamed,  a  recurring 
dream  such  as  everybody  has  experienced,  and  the  strong 
impression  of  his  vision  had  haunted  him,  and  driven  him  to 
the  act.  And  perhaps  someone  of  vigorous  intellect  and 
strong  will  had  commanded  him.  Perhaps  —  no  matter.  It 
was  done. 

Morgan  was  there,  and  the  record  of  justice  in  the  case  of 
state  against  Newbolt  was  about  to  be  made  final  and 
complete. 

*'  You  say  it's  all  over,  Judge,"  spoke  Morgan.  "  What 
did  they  do  with  Joe?" 

"What  happened  in  court  today,"  said  Judge  Maxwell, 
rising  to  his  feet,  "  you  would  have  heard  if  you  had  been 
there.  But  as  you  were  not,  it  is  not  for  me  to  relate.  That 
is  the  privilege  of  another,  as  the  matter  of  your  condemna 
tion  or  acquittal  is  in  other  hands  than  mine." 

"  I  know  I  acted  like  a  dog,"  admitted  Morgan,  sincerely 
contrite,  "both  to  Ollie  and  to  Joe.  But  I'm  here  to  take 
my  medicine,  Judge.  I  thought  a  lot  of  that  little  woman, 
and  I'd  'a'  made  a  lady  of  her,  too.  That  was  it.  Judge ; 
that  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  whole  business.  Ollie  and  I 
planned  to  skip  out  together,  and  Joe  put  his  foot  in  the  mess 
and  upset  it.  That's  what  the  fuss  between  him  and  old 


3,32  The  Bofidboy 


Isom  was  over,  you  can  put  that  down  in  your  book,  Judge. 
I've  got  it  all  lined  out,  and  I  can  tell  you  just " 

"  Never  mind ;  I  think  I  understand.  You'd  have  made  a 
lady  of  her,  would  you?  But  that  was  when  she  was  clean, 
and  unsuspected  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  How  far  would 
your  heroism  go,  Morgan,  if  you  met  her  in  the  street  tonight, 
bespattered  with  public  scorn,  bedraggled  with  public  con 
tempt,  crushed  by  the  discovery  of  your  mutual  sin  against 
that  old  man,  Isom  Chase?  Would  you  take  her  to  your 
heart  then,  Morgan?  Would  you  be  man  enough  to  step  out 
into  the  storm  of  scorn,  and  shoulder  your  part  of  the  load 
like  a  man?  " 

"  If  I  found  her  in  the  lowest  ditch  I'd  take  her  up,  Judge, 
and  I'd  marry  her  —  if  she'd  have  me  then!"  said  Morgan, 
earnestly.  "  WThen  a  man's  careless  and  free,  Judge,  he  sees 
things  one  way;  when  he  comes  up  on  a  short  rope  like  this, 
he  sees  them  another." 

"You  are  right,  Morgan,"  said  the  judge. 

He  walked  the  length  of  the  room,  hands  clasped  behind 
his  back,  his  head  bent  in  thought.  When  he  came  back  to 
the  fire  he  stood  a  little  while  before  Morgan,  looking  at 
him  with  intent  directness,  like  a  physician  sounding  for  a 
baffling  vagary  which  lies  hidden  in  the  brain. 

There  was  a  question  in  his  face  which  Morgan  could  not 
grasp.  It  gave  him  a  feeling  of  impending  trouble.  He 
shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"  Stay  here  until  I  return,"  commanded  the  judge.  "  I  shall 
not  be  long." 

"  I'm  here  to  take  my  medicine,"  reiterated  Morgan, 
weakly.  "  I  wouldn't  leave  if  the  road  was  open  to  me, 
Judge"." 

Judge  Maxwell  went  to  the  door,  calling  for  Hiram.  Hirum 
was  not  far  away.  His  candle  was  still  burning;  he  came 
bobbing  along  the  hall  with  it  held  high  so  he  could  look 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  353 

under  it,  after  the  manner  of  one  who  had  been  using  candles 
all  his  life. 

"  My  overcoat,  Hiram,  and  my  neck  shawl,"  ordered  the 
judge.  He  turned  to  Morgan,  who  was  standing  on  the 
hearth. 

"  Wait  for  me,  I'll  not  be  long  away." 

"  It's  a  blusterin'  and  a  blowin'  mighty  bad,  Judge.  I'll 
get  my  coat " 

"  No,  no,  Hiram ;  there's  something  for  you  to  do  here. 
Watch  that  man ;  don't  let  him  leave." 

"  He  ain't  gwine  a-leave,  Judge,  sah,"  said  Hiram  with 
calm  significance. 

Hiram  held  up  the  great  frieze  coat,  and  the  judge  plunged 
his  arms  into  it.  Then  the  old  negro  adjusted  the  shawl 
about  his  master's  shoulders,  and  tucked  the  ends  of  it  inside 
the  coat,  buttoning  that  garment  over  them,  to  shield  the 
judge's  neck  from  the  driving  rain. 

The  judge  turned  back  into  the  room  to  throw  another 
stick  on  the  fire.  The  lamp  was  burning  low ;  he  reached  over 
to  turn  up  the  wick.  The  flame  jumped,  faltered,  went  out. 

"  Hah,  I've  turned  it  out,  Morgan.  Well,  no  matter. 
You'll  not  need  more  light  than  the  fire  throws.  Make  your 
self  comfortable,  Morgan." 

With  a  word  to  Hiram,  the  judge  opened  the  door  and 
stepped  out  into  the  night. 

On  the  pavement  the  wind  met  him  rudely,  and  the  rain 
drove  its  cold  arrows  against  his  kind  old  face.  Wonderful 
are  the  ways  of  Providence,  thought  Judge  Maxwell,  bend 
ing  his  head  to  bring  his  broad  hat-brim  to  shield  his  face,  and 
complete  are  the  accounts  of  justice  when  it  is  given  that 
men  may  see  them  down  to  the  final  word. 

The  wind  laid  hold  of  the  judge's  coat,  and  tugged  at  it 
like  a  vicious  dog;  it  raged  in  the  gaunt  trees,  and  split  in 
long  sighs  upon  the  gable-ends  and  eaves.  There  was  nobody 


354  The  Bondboy 


abroad.  For  Shelbyvillc  the  hour  was  late;  Judge  Maxwell 
had  the  street  to  himself  as  he  held  on  his  way. 

Past  the  court-house  he  fought  the  wind,  and  a  square 
beyond  that.  There  he  turned  down  a  small  street,  where 
the  force  of  the  blast  was  broken,  looking  narrowly  about 
him  to  right  and  left  at  the  fronts  of  houses  as  he  passed. 

Simeon  Harrison,  Ollie  Chase's  father,  lately  had  given 
over  his  unprofitable  struggle  with  the  soil.  He  had  taken 
a  house  near  the  Methodist  church  and  gone  into  the  business 
of  teaming.  He  hauled  the  merchants'  goods  up  from  the 
railroad  station,  and  moved  such  inhabitants  of  Shelbyville 
as  once  in  a  while  made  a  change  from  one  abode  to  another. 

Sim  had  come  to  Shelbyville  with  a  plan  for  setting  up  a 
general  livery  business,  in  which  ambition  he  had  been  en 
couraged  by  Ollie's  marriage  to  Isom  Chase,  to  whom  he 
looked,  remotely,  for  financial  backing.  But  that  had  turned 
out  a  lean  and  unprofitable  dream. 

Since  Isom's  death  Ollie  had  returned  to  live  with  her 
parents,  and  Sim's  prospects  had  brightened.  He  had  put 
a  big  sign  in  front  of  his  house,  upon  which  he  had  listed  the 
many  services  which  he  stood  ready  to  perform  for  mankind, 
in  consideration  of  payment  therefor.  They  ranged  from 
moving  trunks  to  cleaning  cisterns,  and,  by  grace  of  all  of 
them,  Sim  was  doing  very  well. 

When  Sim  Harrison  heard  of  his  daughter's  public  con 
fession  of  shameful  conduct  with  her  book-agent  boarder,  he- 
was  a  highly  scornful  man.  He  scorned  her  for  her  weakness 
in  yielding  to  what  he  termed  the  "  dallv-f  addle  "  of  the  book- 
agent,  and  he  doubly  scorned  her  for  repudiating  her  former 
testimony.  The  moral  side  of  the  matter  was  obscure  to 
him  ;  it  made  no  appeal. 

His  sense  of  personal  pride  and  family  honor  was  not 
touched  by  his  daughter's  confession  of  shame,  any  more  than 
his  soul  was  moved  to  tenderness  and  warmth  for  her  honest 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  355 

rescue  of  Joe  Newbolt  from  his  overhanging  peril.  He  was 
voluble  in  his  declarations  that  they  would  "  put  the  screws  " 
to  Ollie  on  the  charge  of  perjury.  Sim  would  have  kept  his 
own  mouth  sealed  under  like  circumstances,  and  it  was  beyond 
him  to  understand  why  his  daughter  had  less  discretion  than 
her  parent.  So  he  bore  down  on  the  solemn  declaration  that 
she  stood  face  to  face  with  a  prison  term  for  perjury. 

Sim  had  made  so  much  of  this  that  Ollie  and  her  mother 
were  watching  that  night  out  in  fear  and  trembling,  sitting 
huddled  together  in  a  little  room  with  the  peak  of  the  roof 
in  the  ceiling,  a  lamp  burning  between  them  on  the  stand. 
Their  arms  lay  listlessly  in  their  laps,  they  turned  their 
heads  in  quick  starts  at  the  sound  of  every  footfall  on  the 
board  walk,  or  when  the  wind  swung  the  loose- jointed  gate 
and  flung  it  against  its  anchorings.  They  were  waiting  for 
the  sheriff  to  come  and  carry  Ollie  away  to  jail. 

In  front  of  Sim  Harrison's  house  there  was  a  little  porch, 
not  much  bigger  than  a  hand  held  slantingly  against  its 
weathered  side,  and  in  the  shadow  of  it  one  who  had  ap 
proached  unheard  by  the  anxious  watchers  through  the 
blustering  night,  stood  fumbling  for  the  handle  of  a  bell. 
But  Sim  Harrison's  door  was  bald  of  a  bell  handle,  as  it 
was  bare  of  paint,  and  now  a  summons  sounded  on  its  thin 
panel,  and  went  roaring  through  the  house  like  a  blow  on 
a  drum. 

Mrs.  Harrison  looked  meaningly  at  Ollie ;  Ollie  nodded, 
understandingly.  The  summons  for  which  they  had  waited 
had  come.  The  older  woman  rose  in  resigned  determination, 
went  below  and  opened  the  door. 

"  It  is  Judge  Maxwell,"  said  the  dark  figure  which  stood 
large  and  fearful  in  Mrs.  Harrison's  sight.  "  I  have  come  to 
see  Mrs.  Chase." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I'll  call  her,"  said  the  trembling  woman. 

Ollie  had  heard   from   the   top   of   the   stairs.      She  was 


3.5 0  The   Bondboy 


descending  in  the  darkness,  softly.  She  spoke  as  her  mother 
turned  from  the  door. 

"I  was  expecting  you —  some  of  you,"  said  she. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Judge  Maxwell,  wondering  if  that 
mysterious  voice  had  worked  another  miracle.  "  Get  vour 
wraps  and  conic  with  me." 

Mrs.  Harrison  began  to  groan  and  wail.  Couldn't  they  let 
the  poor  child  stay  there  till  morning,  under  her  own 
mother's  roof?  It  was  a  wild  and  terrible  night,  and  Lord 
knew  the  poor,  beaten,  bruised,  and  weary  bird  would  not  fly 
awav ! 

"Save  your  tears,  madam,  until  they  are  needed,"  said 
the  judge,  not  feeling  that  he  was  called  upon  to  explain  the 
purpose  of  his  visit  to  her. 

"  I'm  ready  to  go,"  announced  Ollie,  hooded  and  cloaked 
in  the  door. 

Sim  Harrison  was  stirring  about  overhead.  He  came  to 
the  top  of  the  stairs  with  a  lamp  in  his  hand,  and  wanted  to 
know  what  the  rumpus  was  about. 

"It's  Judge  Maxwell  —  he's  come  for  Ollie!"  said  his  wife, 
in  a  despairing  wail. 

"I  knowed  it,  I  knowed  it!"  declared  Sim,  with  fatalistic 
resignation,  above  which  there  was  perhaps  a  slight  note 
of  triumph  in  seeing  his  own  prediction  so  speedily  fulfilled. 

To  Harrison  and  his  wife  there  was  no  distinction  between 
the  executive  and  judicial  branches  of  the  law.  Judge  or 
sheriff,  it  was  all  one  to  them,  each  being  equally  terrible 
in  their  eyes. 

"  When  can  she  come  home,  Judge,  when  can  she  come 
back?"  appealed  Mrs.  Harrison,  in  anguished  pleading. 

"It  rests  with  her,"  returned  the  judge. 

He  gave  Ollie  his  arm,  and  they  passed  together  in  silence 
up  the  street.  They  had  proceeded  a  square  before  the  judge 
spoke. 


A  Summons  of  the  Night  357 

"  I  am  calling  you  on  an  unusual  mission,  Mrs.  Chase,  "  he 
said,  "but  I  did  not  know  a  better  way  than  this  to  go  about 
what  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  do." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she.  Pie  could  feel  her  tremble  as  she 
lightly  touched  his  arm. 

They  passed  the  court-house.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
sheriff's  office,  but  they  did  not  turn  in  there,  and  a  sigh  for 
that  temporary  respite,  at  least,  escaped  her.  The  judge 
spoke  again. 

"  You  left  the  court-room  today  before  I  had  a  chance  to 
speak  to  you,  Mrs.  Chase.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  much 
I  admired  your  courage  in  coming  forward  with  the  state 
ment  that  cleared  away  the  doubt  and  tangles  from  Joe 
Ncwbolt's  case.  You  deserve  a  great  deal  of  credit,  which  I 
am  certain  the  public  will  not  withhold.  You  are  a  brave 
little  woman,  Ollie  Chase." 

There  it  was  again !  Twice  in  a  day  she  had  heard  it, 
from  eminent  sources  each  time.  The  world  was  not  a  bleak 
desert,  as  she  had  thought,  but  a  place  of  kindness  and  of 
gentle  hearts. 

"  I'm  glad  you  don't  blame  me,"  she  faltered,  not  knowing 
what  to  make  of  this  unexpected  turn  in  the  night's  adventure. 

"A  brave  little  woman!"  repeated  the  judge  feelingly. 
"And  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  respect  and  admire  you  for 
what  you  have  done." 

Ollie  was  silent,  but  her  heart  was  shouting,  leaping,  and 
bounding  again  in  light  freedom,  as  it  had  lifted  that  morning 
when  Alice  Price  had  spoken  to  her  in  her  despair.  At  last, 
she  said,  with  earnestness : 

"  I  promise  you  I'll  be  a  good  woman,  too,  from  now  on, 
Judge  Maxwell,  and  I'm  thankful  to  you  for  your  kind 
words." 

"We  turn  in  here  —  this  is  my  door,"  said  the  judge. 

Mystified,  wondering  what  the  next  development  of  this 


3.58 The  Bondboy 

strange  excursion  into  the  night  would  be,  but  satisfied  in 
her  mind  that  it  meant  no  ill  for  her  now,  Ollie  waited  while 
the  judge  found  the  keyhole,  for  which  he  groped  in  the  dark. 

"Arid  the  matter  of  the  will  was  all  disposed  of  by  the 
probate  judge  today,  I  hear,"  said  the  judge,  his  hand  on 
the  door. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Then  your  life  is  all  before  you,  to  make  of  it  what  you 
will,"  said  he1,  placing  his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  as  she  stood 
with  him  in  the  dim  hall.  lie  opened  the  study  door.  The 
wood  on  the  grate  was  blazing  brightly.  Ollie  saw  someone 
standing  before  it,  bending  slightly  forward  in  the  pose  of 
expectation.  lie  was  tall  and  of  familiar  figure,  and  the 
firelight  was  playing  in  the  tossed  curls  of  his  short,  fair  hair. 

"In  there,"  said  the  judge,  "if  you  care  to  go." 

Ollie  did  not  stir.  Her  feet  felt  rooted  to  the  floor  in  the 
wonder  and  doubt  of  this  strange  occurrence. 

"Ollie!"  cried  the  man  at  the  hearthstone,  calling  her 
name  imploringly.  lie  came  forward,  holding  out  pleading 
hands. 

She  stood  a  moment,  as  if  gathering  herself  to  a  resolution. 
A  sob  rose  in  her  throat,  and  broke  from  her  lips  transformed 
into  a  trembling,  sharp,  glad  cry.  It  was  as  if  she  had  cast 
the  clot  of  sorrow  from  her  heart.  Then  she  passed  into  the 
room  and  met  him. 

Judire  Maxwell  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

LEST   I    FORGET 

MRS.  NEWBOLT  was  cutting  splints  for  her  new  sun- 
bonnet  out  of  a  pasteboard  box.  She  hitched  her 
chair  back  a  little  farther  into  the  shadow  of  the  porch,  for 
the  impertinent  sun  was  winking  on  her  bright  scissors, 
dazzling  her  eyes. 

It  was  past  the  turn  of  the  afternoon ;  a  soft  wind  was 
moving  with  indolence  among  the  tender  leaves,  sleepy  from 
the  scents  of  lilac  and  apple  bloom  which  it  had  drunk  on 
its  way.  And  now  it  loitered  under  the  eaves  of  the  porch 
to  mix  honeysuckle  with  its  stream  of  drowsy  sweets,  like  a 
chemist  of  Araby  the  Blest  preparing  a  perfume  for  the 
harem's  pride. 

There  was  the  gleam  of  fresh  paint  on  the  walls  of  the 
old  house.  The  steps  of  the  porch  had  been  renewed  with 
strong  timber,  the  rotting  siding  had  been  replaced.  Mrs. 
Newbolt's  chair  no  longer  drew  squeaks  and  groans  from 
the  floor  of  the  porch  as  she  rocked,  swaying  gently  as  her 
quick  shears  shaped  the  board.  New  flooring  had  been  laid 
there,  and  painted  a  handsome  gray;  the  falling  trellis 
between  gate  and  door  had  been  plumbed  and  renewed. 

New  life  was  everywhere  about  the  old  place,  yet  its  old 
charm  was  undisturbed,  its  old  homeliness  was  unchanged. 
Comfort  had  come  to  dejection,  tidiness  had  been  restored 
to  beauty.  The  windows  of  the  old  house  now  looked  upon 
the  highway  boldly,  owing  the  world  nothing  in  the  way 
of  glass. 

Where  the  sprawling  rail  fence  had  lain  for  nearly  forty 
years,  renewed  piecemeal  from  time  to  time  as  it  rotted 

359 


360  The  Hondboi/ 


away,  its  corners  full  of  brambles,  its  stakes  and  riders 
overrun  with  poison-vine;  where  this  brown,  jointed  structure 
had  stretched,  like  a  fossil  worm,  a  great  transformation 
had  come.  The  rails  were  gone,  the  brambles  were  cleared 
awav,  and  a  neat  white  fence  of  pickets  stretched  in  front  of 
the  house.  This  was  flanked  on  either  hand  by  a  high  fence 
of  woven  wire,  new  to  that  country  then,  at  once  the  wonder 
of  the  old  inhabitants,  the  despair  of  prowling  hogs  and  the 
bewilderment  of  hens.  There  was  a  gate  now  where  the  old 
gap  had  been;  it  swung  shut  behind  one  with  an  eager  little 
spring,  which  startled  agents  and  strangers  with  the  sharp 
ness  of  its  click. 

The  shrubbery  had  been  cleared  of  dead  wood,  and  the 
underlying  generations  of  withered  honeysuckle  vines  which 
had  spread  under  the  green  upon  the  old  trellis,  had  been 
taken  away.  Freshness  was  there,  the  mark  of  an  eager, 
vigorous  hand.  The  matted  blue  grass  which  sodded  the  yard 
had  been  cut  and  trimmed  to  lines  along  the  path.  A  great 
and  happy  change  had  come  over  the  old  place,  so  long 
under  the  shadow.  People  stopped  to  admire  it  as  they 


"  Well,  well ;  it's  the  (loin's  of  that  boy,  Joe  Ncwbolt !  "  they 
said. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  paused  in  her  clipping  of  bonnet  slats  to 
make  a  menacing  snip  at  a  big  white  rooster  which  came 
picking  around  the  steps.  The  fowl  stretched  his  long  neck 
and  turned  his  bright  eve  up  to  his  mistress  with  a  slanting 
of  the  head. 

"How  did  you  git  out  of  that  pen,  you  old  scalawag?" 
she  demanded. 

The  rooster  took  a  long  and  dignified  step  away  from 
her,  where  he  stood,  with  little  appearance  of  alarm,  turning 
his  head,  questioning  her  with  his  shining  eye.  She  made  a 
little  lunw-  with  her  shears. 


Lest  I  Forget 361 

"  Yes,  I'm  goin'  to  tell  Joe  on  you,  you  scamp ! "  she 
threatened. 

"  Coo-doot-cut! "  said  the  rooster,  looking  about  him  with 
a  long  stretching  of  the  neck. 

"  Yes,  you  better  begin  to  cackle  over  it,"  said  she,  speaking 
in  solemn  reproof,  as  if  addressing  a  child,  "  for  Joe  he'll 
just  about  cut  your  sassy  old  head  clean  off!  If  he  don't 
do  that,  he'll  trim  down  that  wing  of  yourn  till  you  can't 
bat  a  skeeter  off  your  nose  with  it,  you  redick-lous  old 
critter ! " 

But  it  was  not  the  threat  of  Joe  that  had  drawn  the  cry 
of  alarm  from  the  fowl.  The  sound  of  steps  was  growing 
along  the  path  from  the  front  gate,  and  the  fowl  scampered 
off  to  the  cover  of  the  gooseberry  vines,  as  Mrs.  Newbolt 
turned  to  see  who  the  visitor  was.  The  scissors  fell  from  her 
lap,  and  her  spool  trundled  off  across  the  porch. 

"  Laws,  Sol  Greening,  you  give  me  a  start,  sneakin'  up 
like  that ! " 

Sol  laughed  out  of  his  whiskers,  with  a  big,  loose-rolling 
sound,  and  sat  on  the  porch  without  waiting  to  be  asked. 

"  I  walked  up  over  the  grass,"  said  he.  "  It's  as  soft  under 
your  feet  as  plowed  ground.  They  say  Joe's  got  one  of  them 
lawn-cutters  to  mow  it  with?" 

"Well,  what  if  he  has?"  she  wanted  to  know.  "He's  got 
a  good  many  things  and  improvements  around  here  that  you 
folks  that's  lived  here  for  seventy  years  and  more  never  seen 
before,  I  reckon." 

"  He  sure  is  a  great  feller  for  steppin'  out  his  own  way ! " 
marveled  Sol.  "  I  never  seen  such  a  change  in  a  place  inside 
of  a  year  as  Joe's  made  in  this  one  —  never  in  my  mortal 
horned  days.  It  was  a  lucky  day  for  Joe  when  Judge  Max 
well  took  a  likin'  to  him  that  way." 

Mrs.  Newbolt  was  looking  away  toward  the  hills,  a  dreamy 
cast  in  her  placid  face. 


362  The  Bondboy 


"Yes,"  said  she,  "there's  no  deny-in'  that.  But  Joe  he'd 
'a'  got  along.  Judge  Maxwell  or  no  Judge  Maxwell.  Only 
it'd  'a'  been  slower  and  harder  for  him." 

"lie  would  'a',"  nodded  Sol,  without  reservation.  "No 
discountin'  on  that.  That  boy  beats  anything  this  here 
country  ever  perduced,  barrin'  none,  and  I  ain't  savin'  that, 
either,  ma'am,  just  to  please  you." 

"Much  thanks  I  owe  you  for  what  you  think  of  Joe!" 
said  she,  scornfully.  "You  was  ready  enough,  not  so  very 
long  ago,  to  set  the  whole  world  ag'in'  him  if  you  could." 

"  Well,  circumstantial  evidence—   "  began  Sol. 

"Oh,  circumstantial  nest-eggs!"  said  she,  impatiently. 
"  You'd  known  Joe  all  his  life,  and  you  know  very  well  he 
didn't  shoot  Isom  Chase  any  more  than  you  done  it  yourself!  " 

"Well,  mistakes  is  humant,"  sighed  Sol,  taking  advantage 
of  that  universal  absolution.  "They  say  Judge  Maxwell's 
goin'  to  leave  everything  he's  got  to  Joe,  and  he's  got  a 
considerable,  I  reckon." 

"  I  don't  know  as  Joe'd  take  it,"  said  she,  folding  her 
hands  in  her  lap.  "Judge  Maxwell  had  a  hard  time  to  git 
Joe  to  let  him  put  in  the  money  to  do  things  around  here, 
and  send  him  to  college  over  in  Shelbyville  last  winter.  Joe 
let  him  do  it  on  the  understandin'  that  it  was  a  loan,  to  be 
paid  interest  on  and  paid  back  when  he  was  able." 

"Well,  from  the  start  he's  makin'  it  don't  look  like  the 
judge  'd  have  very  long  to  wait  for  his  money,"  said  Sol. 
"Twenty  acres  of  apple  trees  all  in  a  orchard  together,  and 
twenty  acres  of  strawberries  set  out  betwixt  and  between  the 
rows ! " 

He  looked  over  the  hillside  and  little  apron  of  valley  where 
Joe's  young  orchard  spread.  Each  tiny  tree  was  a  plume  of 
leaves;  the  rows  stretched  out  to  the  hilltop,  and  over. 

"I  can  figger  out  how  twenty  acres  of  apples  can  be 
picked  and  took  care  of,"  reflected  Sol,  as  if  going  over  with 


Lest  I  Forget 363 

himself  something  which  he  had  given  thought  to  before,  "  but 
I'll  be  durned  if  I  can  figger  out  how  any  man's  goin'  to  pick 
and  take  care  of  twenty  acres  of  strawberries ! " 

"  Joe  knows,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Well,  I  hope  he  does,"  sighed  Sol,  the  sigh  being  breathed 
to  give  expression  of  what  remained  unspoken.  No  matter 
what  his  hopes,  his  doubts  were  unshaken. 

No  man  had  ever  taken  care  of  twenty  acres  of  straw 
berries  —  nor  the  twentieth  part  of  one  acre,  for  that  mat 
ter  —  in  that  community.  No  man  could  do  it,  according  to 
the  bone-deep  belief  of  Sol  and  his  kind. 

"  Joe  says  that's  only  a  little  dab  of  a  start,"  said  she. 

"  Cree-mo-nee ! "  said  Sol,  his  mouth  standing  open  like  a 
mussel  shell  in  the  sun.  "  Whcn'll  they  be  ripe?" 

"  Next  spring." 

"Which?"  queried  Sol,  perking  his  head  in  puzzled  and 
impertinent  way,  very  much  as  the  rooster  had  done  a  little 
while  before  him. 

"  Next  spring,  I  said,"  she  repeated,  nodding  over  her 
bonnet,  into  which  she  was  slipping  the  splints. 

"No  crop  this  3rear?" 

"No;  Joe  says  it  weakens  the  plants  to  bear  the  first 
year  they're  set.  It  takes  the  strength  away  from  the  roots, 
he  says.  He  goes  through  the  field  and  snips  off  every  bloom 
he  sees  when  he's  hoein'  among  'em,  and  I  help  him  between 
times.  We  don't  git  all  of  'em,  by  a  mighty  sight,  though." 

Sol  shook  his  head  with  wise  depreciation. 

"  Throwin'  away  money,"  said  he. 

"Did  you  ever  raise  any  strawberries?"  she  inquired, 
putting  down  the  bonnet,  bringing  Sol  up  with  a  sharp  look. 

"  Reckon  I  raised  as  many  as  Joe  ever  did,  and  them  mainly 
with  a  spoon,"  said  Sol. 

The  joke  was  not  entirely  new;  it  could  not  have  been 
original  with  Sol  by  at  least  three  hundred  years.  But  it  did 

24 


364  The  liondboy 


very  well  as  an  excuse  for  Sol  to  laugh.  He  was  always 
looking  for  excuses  to  laugh,  that  was  the  one  virtue  in  him. 
Without  his  big  laugh  he  would  have  been  an  empty  sack 
without  a  bottom. 

"Joe  got  them  rows  mighty  purty  and  straight,"  said 
Sol,  squinting  along  the  apple  trees. 

"  Yes,  he  set  'em  out  accordin'  to  geog'aphy,"  said  she. 

"Which?"  said  Sol. 

"Ge-og'a-phy,  I  said.  Didn't  you  never  hear  tell  of  that 
before  neither,  Sol  Greening?" 

"Oh,"  said  Sol,  lightly,  as  if  that  made  it  all  as  plain 
to  him  as  his  own  cracked  thumbs.  "  How  much  does  Joe 
reckon  he'll  git  off  of  that  patch  of  berries  when  it  begins 
to  bear?" 

"  I  never  heard  him  say  he  expected  to  make  anything," 
said  she,  "  but  I  read  in  one  of  them  f  ruit-growin'  papers  he 
takes  that  they  make  as  much  as  three  hundred  dollars  an 
acre  from  'em  back  in  Ellinoi." 

Sol  got  up,  slowly ;  took  a  backward  step  into  the  yard ; 
filled  his  lungs,  opened  his  mouth,  made  his  eyes  round. 
Under  the  internal  pressure  his  whiskers  stood  on  end  and  his 
face  grew  red.  "Oh,  you  git  out!"  said  he. 

"  I  can  show  it  to  you  in  the  paper,"  she  offered,  making 
as  if  to  put  aside  her  sewing. 

Sol  laid  a  finger  on  his  palm  and  stood  with  his  head  bent. 
After  a  bit  he  looked  up,  his  eyes  still  round. 

"  If  he  even  makes  a  hundred,  that'll  be  two  thousand 
dollars  a  year  !  " 

It  was  such  a  magnificent  sum  that  Sol  did  not  feel  like 
taking  the  familiarity  with  it  of  mentioning  it  aloud,  lie 
whispered  it,  giving  it  large,  rich  sound. 

"Why,  I  reckon  it  would  be,"  said  she,  offhand  and  care 
less,  just  as  if  two  thousand  a  year,  more  or  less,  mattered 
very  little  to  Joe. 


Lest  I  Forget 365 

"  That's  more  than  I  ever  made  in  my  whole  dad-blame 
life,"  said  Sol. 

"Well,  whose  fault  is  it,  Sol?  "  asked  she. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  can  be  done !  " 

"  You'll  see,"  she  assured  him,  comfortably. 

"And  Joe  he  went  and  stuck  to  the  old  place,"  reflected 
Sol.  "  He  might  'a'  got  some  better  land  for  his  sperimentin' 
and  projeckin'  if  he'd  'a'  looked  around." 

"  He  was  offered  land,  all  the  land  a  man  could  want," 
said  she.  "  Ollie  wanted  him  to  take  over  the  Chase  home 
place  and  farm  it  when  she  and  Morgan  married  and  left,  but 
Joe  he  said  no;  the  Newbolts  had  made  their  failures  here, 
he  said,  and  here  they  was  goin'  to  make  their  success.  He 
had  to  redeem  the  past,  Joe  said,  and  wipe  out  the  mistakes, 
and  show  folks  what  a  Newbolt  can  do  when  he  gits  his  foot 
set  right." 

"  He'll  do  it,  too,"  said  Sol,  without  a  reserved  grudge  or 
jealousy;  "he's  doin*  it  already." 

"Yes,  I  always  knew  Joe  would,"  said  she.  "When  he 
was  nothing  but  a  little  shaver  he'd  read  the  Cottage  Encyclo- 
pedy  and  the  Imitation  and  the  Bible,  from  back  to  back.  I 
said  then  he'd  be  governor  of  this  state,  and  he  will." 

She  spoke  confidently,  nodding  over  her  work. 

"  Shucks !    How  do  you  know  he  will  ?  " 

Sol's  faith  was  not  strong  in  this  high-flying  forecast.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  it  was  crowding  things  a  little  too  far. 

"  You'll  live  to  see  it,"  said  she. 

Sol  sat  with  his  back  against  a  pillar  of  the  porch,  one 
foot  on  the  ground,  the  other  standing  on  the  boards  in 
front  of  him,  his  hands  locked  about  his  doubled  knee.  He  sat 
there  and  looked  up  at  the  Widow  Newbolt,  raising  his  eye 
brows  and  rolling  his  eyes,  but  not  lifting  his  head,  which 
was  slightly  bent.  "Well,  what's  to  be's  to  be,"  said  he. 
"When's  he  goin'  to  marry?" 


366  The  Kondboy 


"  When  he's  through  goin'  to  college." 

"That'll  be  two  or  three  years,  maybe?" 

"  Maybe." 

"  Hum ;  Alice  Price  she'll  be  gettin'  purty  well  along  by 
that  time." 

"She's  not  quite  a  year  older  than  Joe,"  Mrs.  Newbolt 
corrected  him,  with  some  asperity,  "  and  she's  one  of  the  kind 
that'll  keep.  Well,  I  was  married  myself,  and  had  a  baby, 
when  I  was  nineteen.  But  that's  no  sign." 

"  Joe'll  build,  I  reckon,  before  then?"  guessed  Sol. 

"  No ;  Alice  don't  want  him  to.  She  wants  to  come  hero 
a  bride,  to  this  house,  like  I  come  to  it  long,  long  ago.  We'll 
fix  up  and  make  ready  for  her,  little  by  little,  as  we  go  along. 
It'll  be  bringin'  back  the  pleasure  of  the  old  days,  it'll  be  like 
livin'  my  courtship  and  marriage  over.  This  was  a  fine; 
house  in  the  days  that  Peter  brought  me  here,  for  Peter,  hi.' 
had  money  then,  and  he  put  the  best  there  was  goin'  into  it." 

"It  looks  better  than  any  house  around  here  now,  since 
you  fixed  it  up  and  painted  it,"  said  Sol. 

"  It's  better  inside  than  outside,"  said  she,  with  a  woman's 
pride  in  a  home,  which  justifies  her  warmth  for  it.  "We  had 
it  all  plastered  and  varnished.  The  doors  and  casin's  and  all 
the  trimmin's  are  walnut,  worth  their  weight  in  gold,  now, 
almost,  Judge  Maxwell  says." 

"  Yes,  the  curly  walnut's  all  gone,  years  and  years  ago," 
said  Sol. 

"  It  passed  away  with  the  pioneers,"  sighed  she. 

"I  suppose  they'll  build  in  time,  though?"  Sol  said. 

"  I  'low  they  will,  maybe,  after  I'm  gone,"  said  she. 

"Well,  well"!"  said  Sol.  He  sat  silent  a  little  while.  "Folks 
never  have  got  over  wonderin'  on  the  way  she  took  up  with 
Joe,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Newbolt  flashed  up  in  a  breath. 

"Why   should   anybody  wonder,   I'd  like   for   you  to   tell 


Lest  I  Forget 367 

me?"  she  demanded.  "Joe  he's  good  enough  for  her,  and 
too  good  for  anybody  else  in  this  county !  Who  else  was 
there  for  Joe,  who  else  was  there  for  Alice?" 

Sol  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  It  was  beyond  him,  the 
way  some  people  figgcred,  he  thought  in  the  back  of  his  mind. 
There  was  his  own  girl,  Tilda  Bell.  He  considered  her  the 
equal  to  any  Newbolt  that  ever  straddled  a  horse  and  rode 
over  from  Kentucky.  But  then,  you  never  could  tell  how 
tastes  run. 

"Well,  reckon  I'll  have  to  be  rackin'  out  home,"  said  he, 
getting  up,  tiptoeing  to  take  the  cramp  out  of  his  legs. 

"  Yes,  and  I'll  have  to  be  stirrin'  the  pots  to  get  supper 
for  my  boy  Joe,"  she  said. 

The  smoke  from  her  kitchen  fire  rose  white  as  she  put  in 
dry  sumac  to  give  it  a  start.  It  mounted  straight  as  a  plume 
for  a  little  way,  until  it  met  the  cool  air  of  evening  which 
was  beginning  to  fall.  There  it  spread,  like  a  floating  silken 
scarf,  and  settled  over  the  roof.  It  draped  down  slowly  over 
the  walls,  until  it  enveloped  the  old  home  like  the  benediction 
of  a  loving  heart. 

The  sun  was  descending  the  ladder  of  the  hills ;  low  now 
it  stood  above  them,  the  valley  in  shadow  more  than  half  its 
breadth,  a  tender  flood  of  gold  upon  the  slope  where  the  new 
orchard  waved  its  eager  shoots ;  the  blessing  of  a  day  was 
passing  in  the  promise  of  a  day  to  come. 

Out  of  the  kitchen  came  the  cheerful  sound  of  batter  for 
the  corn  bread  being  beaten  in  the  bowl,  and  with  it  Sarah 
Newbolt's  voice  in  song : 

Near  the  cross,  O  Lamb  of  God 

The  beating  of  the  batter  dimmed  the  next  line.  Then  it 
rose  to  the  close 


Let  me  walk  from  day  to  day, 
With  its  shadow  o'er  me. 


368  The  Bondboy 


The  clamp  of  the  oven  door  was  heard,  and  silence  followed. 

Sarah  was  standing  on  the  porch  again  wiping  her  hands 
on  her  apron,  looking  away  toward  the  fields.  The  sun  was 
dipping  now  into  the  forest  cresting  the  hills;  the  white 
rooster  was  pacing  the  outside  of  the  wire  enclosure  from 
which  he  had  escaped,  in  frantic  search  of  an  opening  to 
admit  him  to  his  perch,  his  proud  head  all  rumpled  in  his 
baffled  eagerness,  his  dangling  wattles  fiery  red. 

The  smoke  hail  found  the  low  places  in  garden  and  lawn, 
where  it  hovered;  a  dove  wailed  from  the  old  orchard,  where 
a  pair  of  them  nested  year  after  year;  a  little  child-wind 
came  with  soft  fingers,  and  laid  them  on  the  waiting  woman's 
hair. 

Her  face  quickened  with  a  smile.  Joe  was  coming  home 
from  the  field.  Over  his  shoulder  he  carried  his  hoe,  and  as 
he  came  on  toward  her  in  yard-long  strides  his  mother  thought 
of  the  young  soldiers  she  had  seen  march  away  to  the  war, 
carrying  their  guns  in  that  same  free  confidence  of  careless 
strength.  His  hat  was  pushed  hack  from  his  forehead,  the 
collar  of  his  hlue  flannel  shirt  was  open.  His  boyish  sus 
penders  had  been  put  away  in  favor  of  a  belt,  which  was 
tight-drawn  about  his  slim  waist. 

Very  trim  and  strong,  and  confident  he  looked,  with  the 
glow  of  youth  in  his  cheeks,  and  the  spark  of  happiness  in  his 
gray  eyes.  He  was  well  set  in  the  form  of  a  man  now,  the 
months  since  his  imprisonment  having  brought  him  much 
to  fasten  upon  and  hold. 

Joe  made  the  same  great  splashing  that  he  had  made  on 
that  spring  evening  of  a  year  gone  by,  when  he  came  home 
from  work  to  step  into  the  shadow  which  so  quickly  grew 
into  a  storm.  But  there  was  no  shadow  ahead  of  him  this 
night ;  there  was  no  somber  thing  to  bend  down  the  high 
serenity  of  his  happy  heart. 

He  stood  before  the  glass  hung  above  the  wash  bench  and 


Lest  I  Forget  369 

smoothed  his  hair.  Mrs.  Newbolt  was  standing  by  the  stove, 
one  of  the  lids  partly  removed,  some  white  thing  in  her  hand 
which  she  seemed  hesitating  over  consigning  to  the  flames. 

"What  've  you  got  there,  Mother?"  he  asked  cheerily  as 
he  turned  to  take  his  place  at  the  waiting  table. 

"  Laws,"  said  she,  in  some  perturbation,  her  face  flushed, 
holding  the  thing  in  her  hand  up  to  his  better  view,  "  it's  that 
old  paper  I  got  from  Isom  when  I  —  a  year  ago !  I  mislaid 
it  when  the  men  was  paintin'  and  plasterin',  and  I  just  now 
run  across  it  stuck  back  of  the  coffee  jar." 

For  a  moment  Joe  stood  behind  her,  silently,  looking  over 
her  shoulder  at  the  signature  of  Isom  Chase. 

"  It's  no  use  now,"  said  she,  her  humiliation  over  being 
confronted  with  this  reminder  of  her  past  perfidy  against 
her  beloved  boy  almost  overwhelming  her.  "We  might  as 
well  put  it  in  the  stove  and  git  it  out  of  sight." 

Joe  looked  at  her  with  a  smile,  his  face  still  solemn  and 
serious  for  all  its  youth  and  the  fires  of  new-lit  hope  behind 
his  eyes.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  shoulder  assuringly,  and 
closed  the  stove. 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Mother,"  said  he,  reaching  out  his  hand. 

She  placed  the  bond  of  his  transference  to  Isom  Chase  in 
it,  and  those  old  heart-wrung  tears  of  hers,  which  had  been 
dry  upon  her  cheeks  now  for  many  a  happy  day,  welled,  and 
flowed  down  silently. 

Joe  folded  the  paper. 

"  I'll  keep  it,  Mother,"  said  he,  "  so  that  it  will  stand  as  a 
reminder  to  me  in  prosperity  that  I  was  once  poor  and  in 
bondage ;  and  in  my  happiness  that  it  may  tell  me  of  the  days 
when  I  was  forsaken  and  in  prison,  with  only  my  mother's 
faithful  hand  to  comfort  me. 

"  I'll  put  it  away  and  keep  it,  Mother,  lest  in  my  prosperity 
some  day  I  may  forget  the  Lord ;  forget  that  He  giveth,  and 
that  He  taketh  away,  also ;  that  His  hand  chastiseth  in  the 


370  The  Bondboy 


same  measure  that  it  bestows  blessings  upon  us.  I'll  leave  it 
up  here,  Mother,  on  the  old  shelf;  right  where  I  can  see  it 
everv  time  I  take  down  the  Book." 


A     000  131  282     6 


